


I Had Your Love, I Had It All

by invective



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Not K-Pop Idols, Arranged Marriage, F/M, Genderswap, Greek Mythology - Freeform, Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-30
Updated: 2017-10-30
Packaged: 2019-01-26 16:15:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 30,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12561236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/invective/pseuds/invective
Summary: She barely comes to a crouch beside him before a gasp leaves her mouth and her right hand forgets it’s holding something.





	I Had Your Love, I Had It All

**Author's Note:**

> I had a lot of fun adapting Psyche's story to the modern day, and Aphrodite is probably my favorite villain haha. I hope the prompter enjoys!

It’s September 2nd, Juneun’s wedding day. The analog clock on the wall ticks tauntingly at her. The hour hand sits just at 10, fifteen minutes away from signing away the rest of her life. Her sisters bustle about, fixing her dress and arranging the strands of her hair just so. Jonghae lightly dabs glitter on the center of her lips and on her cheekbones. Juneun feels none of it; part of her is still mystified that she’s even getting married. Just remembering how she’d gotten into this situation already sends her reeling.

Her mother first informed her of her engagement three months ago, at her twenty-fourth birthday party. Kim Minhee had been careful to do so out of earshot of all the guests, of course, but the revelation still soured the evening nonetheless. To put it mildly, the birthday girl was not amused. She was so distraught, in fact, that she put an end to the previously jubilant affair an hour after she was yanked into the bathroom. Juneun’s mother has always been tactless; she should’ve asked the woman to wait until the end of the night to speak her piece. Unfortunately, Juneun was nothing if not filial, and so she’d allowed herself to be dragged along.

At first, Juneun didn’t quite believe her ears. Though her mother wasn’t much of a practical jokester, she still held out on the hope that her words were in jest. Minhee certainly hadn’t helped the situation when she joked, “Thank God you just got out of a relationship, huh?”

But, when the woman arched a brow expectantly and said, “Well, aren’t you going to say something?” instead of “ _Ha_! Got you!” it became horrifyingly apparent that this wasn’t just a part of her mother’s twisted sense of humor.

Juneun was getting _married_.

Of course, Juneun resisted. That was _not_ how she wanted her life to go. Getting married in her early twenties might’ve been the norm in her parents’ time, but that was decades ago. It wasn’t that Juneun was entirely averse to the idea of finding love (no matter how badly her relationships with Taekwoon and his predecessors crashed and burned), it was that falling in love and getting married were two very different things. There was so much that Juneun wanted to do prior to settling down with someone, preferably of her own choice, for the rest of her life.

She wanted to travel the world with her friends, wanted to turn her little bakery into a nationwide franchise. While Juneun acknowledged that getting married didn’t automatically resign her to a boring life forever, it was still a major commitment — one she felt way too young for. Oh, how those years of insisting she was “mature for her age” came to bite her in the ass.

Juneun threw her little tantrum for a month, hoping that her mother would call the engagement off if she kicked up enough of a fuss. Doubly so considering the fact that she was never a rebellious or difficult child, just merely headstrong. Her father could only tolerate it for so long. Humiliating her in front of her own employees, the man confronted her at work one day and informed her just how massive an investment her marriage was. Evidently, it came about because of her mother’s hefty reliance on “fortune tellers” and a 250 million won prediction. “250 million,” he’d emphasized. “Just humor her. For all our sakes.” And so she’d shut up.

Both of her parents would later insist that she had nothing to complain about; they were going to take care of all the preparations, and the man she was supposed to marry was well off and (allegedly) handsome.

For the sake of familial unity, she had kept quiet. Her younger sisters weren’t particularly empathetic, more enamored by the apparent romanticism of archaic arranged marriages. Dramas are to blame, she supposes, considering they’ve constantly presented this idealistic view of being given a partner. By some miracle of chance, the two leads were always meant to be, and it was a good thing that their families set them up together. There’s no mention of people being arranged to marry abusers, or the infidelity and toxicity that might arise from marrying someone you didn’t want. Juneun only hopes that she doesn’t fall into the latter category. Anything else goes.

As the day approached, though, it seemed that the twins slowly began to realize just how distressed their elder sister was at the prospect of marrying a complete stranger. They became her pillar of strength after that, and Juneun was grateful. They took it upon themselves to help their parents so Juneun was only as involved as she had to be.

Sometimes, though, they can be as oblivious as their mother. Baekhee breaks her out of her reverie with an excited “Welp! You’re ready!” The abrupt noise makes her jump, hand flying to her chest.

Juneun examines herself in the vanity. She looks every bit the perfect bride, long brown hair curled into perfection and pulled loosely into a braided bun. The theming of her wedding was gold, or so she had been told, which resulted in the rather audacious coloring of her eyelids, as well as some shimmering specks in her lip gloss and blush. She has to applaud Jonghae, though; the makeup isn’t nearly as gaudy as she expected it to be. She’s sculpted into perfection, but it’s made to look natural. Even her clavicles are contoured, bringing attention to her slender-but-fit-frame. This might be the one part of her wedding she has no complaints over. If Juneun wasn’t allowed to have a private and quick ceremony, she might as well look good.

Her gown is exquisite, far beyond her means. The A-line sleeveless dress is flattering in all the right ways, accentuating her tiny waist and average chest. Juneun was never vain, but even she can appreciate how beautiful they made her for her “special day.” It just makes it all the more bittersweet, she supposes. It seems like a waste to have all these beautiful things for such a deceitful occasion.

Baekhee makes a few final adjustments to her veil when they all start at a knock on the door. Her father. The clock counting down her single-hood is now down to the seconds. Her lungs constrict, but she resists the urge to hyperventilate. Breathing exercises even out her respiration. “Just a minute!” Jonghae calls as she helps Juneun stand up. She squeezes her older sister in a tight hug and then goes to open the door.

Their father has broken out his most expensive logsdail suit, though his expression hardly befits it. She can’t remember the last time he’s ever actually used it. Upon seeing Juneun’s face, though, he schools himself into moderate excitement. He attempts a reassuring smile. “You ready, sweetheart?”

“As I’ll ever be.” She takes his outstretched hand as her sisters scurry to their seats. Every step she takes towards the ballroom feels heavier and heavier. Her heart feels like a ton of lead. Try as he might, her father can only offer so much support. She must derive strength from herself. She can’t allow herself to be toppled by uncertainty. Kim Juneun is better than that.

They stop at the entranceway, Juneun’s father giving the signal that they are ready. “My little girl,” he whispers, mostly to himself, and she tightens her grip on the crook of his elbow. As the heavy doors open and the first notes of Pachelbel’s Canon announce her arrival, she trains her gaze on the ground.

The ochre velvet carpet fills her vision, and she is content to have it so. She knows her future husband stands at the altar, but Juneun would rather not ruin what meager hopes she had of the man. The walk seems almost impossibly long, though it may be simply because of the amount of dread she feels. As she sees the rows of chairs stop out of the corner of her eye, the sense of panic starts to re-emerge. Juneun lifts her head to glance at her sisters in the seats to her right.

Baekhee gives her an OK and mouths, “He’s fucking _hot_!” It’s a brief moment of levity that almost has her releasing a burst of laughter, but she comes to a stop and instinctually (robotically, probably) takes her place across her betrothed. She prepares herself for disappointment and then looks up. The first thing that strikes Juneun is that Baekhee is right.

Juneun’s eyes widen. Perhaps the man’s gentle smile aids in his attractiveness. Blonde hair swept up with gel and pomade, beautifully sculpted brows in combination with soft, round eyes, a petite button-nose, and full lips might very well have painted a picture of her perfect man. Wu Yifan is absolutely gorgeous, and she doesn’t even realize that the officiant has begun to speak until Yifan squeezing her hands brings her back to reality.

“Marriage,” a wizened old man she doesn’t recognize says, “is one of the most beautiful rites of mankind. It is a new beginning and the continuation of a journey all at once. Here, we have two very successful, very talented, and very amazing individuals who are gracious enough to allow us to see the start of their lives’ next chapter.

“Wu Yifan, a man renowned for bringing hundreds of couples together is now finally fortunate to be on the receiving end of Cupid’s elusive arrow. His bride, Kim Juneun, a consummate professional now sees fit to allow love into her life. Just looking at these two, you know they’re going to have a happy and loving and bountiful future together.”

Juneun has to force herself not to scoff and roll her eyes. There’s something off about the way the man speaks about her priorities. So what if she cares more about her job than her love life? Biting her tongue, she tightens her grip on her bouquet instead.

“Now, of course, no life is without trials and tribulations. There will be hurt, there will be strain. But love — love wins over all. It is the one certainty in life. Today, we are here to solemnize this certainty with a vow.” The man turns to Yifan. “Do you, Yifan, take Juneun to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do you part?”

“I do,” Yifan answers with utmost confidence. Juneun wonders how he can so easily pledge himself to this.

The old man turns to her, repeating his verbose query.

Juneun feels her entire body start to tremble. She knows she can’t do this, that it isn’t right. The urge to run blares angrily like a siren in her head. But she has to. For her mother. For her mother. The repetition does little to soothe her nerves. She feels her throat go dry. This is the most intense promise she’s ever made in her life. “I do,” she answers at last, hoping she sounds even a little bit sincere.

The priest smiles gently at her, as if reminding her that it’s meant to be a happy affair. Juneun hopes that whatever she’s doing with her lips is enough to reassure him that she knows. It must, as he moves on to proselytize more about the sanctity of marriage and true love. His voice fades into a distant buzzing and Juneun only snaps out her near deliria when Yifan takes her hand to exchange the rings.

Everything about Yifan radiates comfort, from the way he gently slides a heavy band onto her finger, to the encouraging flex of his hand as she reciprocates. The way he lifts her veil slowly and, to Juneun’s surprise, almost shyly slows her heartbeat just ever so slightly. His fingers drift across her jaw as he cups her face.

“Hi,” Yifan murmurs. The audience chuckles.

His kiss, though, is the most comforting of all.

He’s _good_.

Lasting no longer than five seconds, the impression of his lips sat perfectly between light and hard, just the right amount of pressure to make her knees go weak but just soft enough that she didn’t feel like she was being eaten alive. In that moment, she felt as though he might actually be the total package her parents had described. It’s perfect, pillowy heaven, and she doesn’t actually want it to end. The chaste part of her chastises her evident desperation. She hadn’t realized she was so close to pulling him in further.

Yifan’s easy grin as he pulls away is dazzling, leaving her starstruck. He has this remarkable ability to knock her off her feet, probably owing some of the credit to the whirlwind of emotions that currently makes her head feel light and airy.

This is it. They’re husband and wife.

But it’s not as if the day’s over. He leads her to the elevator at the far end of the hall with a gentle tug. Juneun is surprised that they haven’t drowned in all the rose petals and rice thrown at them. The number of attendees was split evenly down the middle between the bride and groom’s sides, though she wasn’t sure she even knew everyone who came on her behalf. There were a lot of people, more than were necessary to witness her phony wedding.

The sound of raucous applause still echoes in Juneun’s ears even as the elevator dings and the doors shut, leaving them in absolute solitude. As it begins to swiftly rise upward, she feels as though all of her organs are floating with it. She’s not nauseous but there’s an unease that’s too uncomfortable to ignore. She’s _alone_ with him now. She can feel Yifan gazing at her, and she swallows roughly.

“It’s nice to finally meet you,” he says, clearly amused.

“You too,” she responds. “You’re a good kisser.” She didn’t mean to say that out loud.

It makes him laugh, though, so she doesn’t feel too embarrassed. The noise is soothing. Sharing humor rather than mocking. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

The silence resumes. The ride is simultaneously too short to say anything of substance and too long to bear.

Yifan opens his mouth to say something else, but the elevator doors ding open and Juneun’s suddenly staring in her sisters’ faces. Juneun doesn’t like their Cheshire cat grins. In her mind’s eye, she can see little devil horns on the top of their heads. She can tell just by the way Yifan stiffens slightly beside her that he’s a little off-put too.

“We’ll have her back to you in a jiffy,” Baekhee chirps. She yanks Juneun roughly out of the lift and sends Yifan an impish wink as the doors close.

To their credit, neither of them bombard her with questions, but it is abundantly clear that they have plenty. Rather, they wait until they’ve squirrelled her away to another dressing room (and she wonders why they don’t just use the one from earlier) before releasing their deluge of queries.

“Is he hot?” _Yes_.

“Did I imagine it, or was there tongue?” _You imagined it, Baekhee_.

“What color are his eyes? Did you see a Feminist Ryan Gosling meme in them?” … _They’re brown_.

“You guys are gonna bang later, right?”

That makes her splutter, then yelp as the zipper of her cheongsam catches on her flesh. Jonghae briefly apologizes in the midst of her laughter. The wardrobe change is, in Juneun’s opinion, a waste of time, but Yifan’s family apparently insisted on it. She didn’t even know who they were, beyond ‘people I didn’t see who were sitting on the left.’

Despite the fact that the wedding was entirely western, they’d evidently wanted to impart at least some of their culture unto it. Perhaps it’s supposed to be a way to welcome her into the family. Hell if she knew. It wasn’t as if she was going to ask.

“We are _not_. I… why would you even _ask_ that?!”

Baekhee makes a noncommittal noise and shrugs. “He’s hot. Why _wouldn’t_ you jump his bones? I would.”

Juneun splutters again. “Because I don’t know him! Because he’s… a stranger, and — _and_ I don’t know if he’s been tested recently! I don’t want gonorrhea!”

“Suit yourself.”

“Methinks the lady doth protest too much,” Jonghae tuts.

“I’m not!”

“Mm-hm.”

“Oh, don’t pout, you’re going to ruin your makeup.”

The golden hues are replaced with a soft red, across her eyelids, cheeks, and a light, glossy pink is patted onto her lips. She’s still vibrant, just not as glaring as before. Clearly, subtlety was not the intention of their theming. Her crimson cheongsam is lacey and beaded. It was a mermaid cut, hugging tightly around her hips and legs where her white gown flared out with tulle and satin. Juneun feels as though she would probably enjoy wearing it under different circumstances. She’s not sure what to feel about the whole ordeal.

Yifan seemed like a kind man, but she’d only met him an hour ago, and five minutes of interaction isn’t enough to know someone. It’s very easy to pretend to be someone else, or to presume somebody is a certain way, if one only speaks about twelve words. She has an arguable lifetime to do so, she supposes, but she’s still scared. Whatever calming presence her now-husband had imparted upon her seemingly vanished along with his presence. Juneun isn’t nearly as frightened as she was prior to the ceremony, though she was still more than apprehensive.

Said apprehension doubles when she takes the elevator up to the rooftop terrace, where Yifan is waiting for her. She feels terrible for her poor bouquet, of which she’s squeezing the life out of in an attempt to not have a mental breakdown. Juneun feels her stomach flutter as Yifan greets her, taking her hand and bringing it to his lips. He hasn’t changed much of his attire, simply removing his bow tie and unbuttoning his jacket. It’s business-casual-pretty. “You look wonderful,” he murmurs.

“Thank you.” She allows him to place her hand in the crook of his elbow. The sudden clinking of glasses makes her head lower in embarrassment as they walk towards the already seated guests. Yifan doesn’t move to kiss her as the crowd demands, only placating them with chuckles and a waved hand and providing Juneun with a comforting warmth and weight at her side.

The space isn’t very large, but it provides a phenomenal view of Seoul’s skyline. Were Juneun not so acrophobic, she might’ve taken the time to examine it in detail. Groups of ten guests are seated around red silk tablecloths. Yifan’s family and Juneun’s are interspersed between each other, placing complete strangers side by side. She supposes that Baekhee designed the seating chart so that people could make new friends. Drinks have already been served to help ease that endeavor, with a couple of people visibly sipping on white wine and champagne and chatting amicably. The tables are arranged around the edge of the square-shaped terrace so that there’s room for a dance floor.

Yifan guides her to the front as Etta James starts to sing. _At Last_ was an incredibly ironic choice on her part. It’s one of her favorite songs, but also there’s no ‘at last’-ing to be had. This is their first meeting, and when one considers the idea of a first dance, this is quick literally the first time they’ve danced with each other. When she was a little girl, the first dance was her favorite thing about a wedding. It was an intimate affair, romantic and isolating even though they’d be surrounded by all their guests watching in (hopefully) adoration.

It reminded her of the final frames of Disney’s _Sleeping Beauty_ , Phillip and Aurora twirling around as the colors of her dress flip-flopped between pink and blue. Her dream was to emulate her favorite movie with the love of her life, a man she could gaze at with tenderness and affection and the certainty that it’s her soulmate. Nobody else in the world would matter, just as how the background characters faded as the royal pair danced on the clouds.

Now that she’s actually partaking in it, though, Juneun can’t help but feel incredibly conscious of the eyes trained on her. She’s no stranger to the waltz and is incredibly grateful that it’s a relatively simple dance. She isn’t quite sure if she could handle anything more complicated than that. It’s a miracle that she hasn’t tripped and dragged her new husband down with her yet, considering how in her head she is rather than focusing on her footwork. Yifan is an adept partner, though there’s very little complexity on his part and ostensibly anyone could replace him to exceedingly similar results.

She supposes it’s their proximity that causes her discomfort. He’s not doing anything wrong. He’s holding her the way one’s supposed to hold their waltzing partner. It’s just… she doesn’t _know_ him. Juneun was never a dancer, but she always felt that there was supposed to be a sense of kinship between partners. If anything, their dance seemed to be purely perfunctory. There was no soul, no romance. Just near-mechanical twirls and steps up until the song ends.

The dance with her father is marginally better. At least there’s something there — though maybe it’s just her being a prude, because it looks like her mother’s having the time of her life dancing with Yifan. His own, apparently, declined to dance in favor of a drink, and so Juneun’s had (embarrassingly) offered to take her place. Her father is remarkably less skilled — probably where she inherited her clumsiness from — but her dance is also significantly less uncomfortable.

He’s also teary, which is unfair, because he’s going to make her cry too. He has to know that her reasons for shedding tears are different. It must be difficult for him, too, seeing his eldest daughter get married off. From what Juneun recalled, he seemed just as unexcited as her throughout the brief engagement, if a bit resigned. Her father’s had to deal with her mother’s antics for almost three decades of marriage, so she can only imagine that he’s far past his breaking point and just goes with whatever she does — even marrying off their eldest daughter because some lady said the sticks fell in the right pattern for it to be.

This time around, it’s she who smiles in reassurance. She’s not sure what it looks like to an outsider. Maybe they think their nonverbal exchange is just like that of every other father-daughter dance. Learning to let go, giving her away to another man to take care of her. A rite of passage, one of the many ways to define her as an adult rather than his little girl as he claims. If only it were so generic.

Juneun’s grateful when the dance finishes. It means she won’t humiliate herself by crying in front of dozens of people. She’s not fond of embarrassing herself in complete strangers, nor is she willing to give her sisters blackmail material in the form of her ugly crying face. Yifan’s hand at the small of her back as they walk together to the front table, snug between two speakers in front of the DJ’s station, is a supportive enough gesture.

“Would you like to give the speech or should I?” he whispers in her ear. The question almost throws her off balance — she forgot all about it, and her family had never been brought up to her. She knew that it _happened_ , but everyone else neglected to tell her to prepare for it. The surprise must show on her face, because Yifan chuckles and dips his head. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll just… make it up as I go.”

She thanks him, but he waves it off as he pics up the microphone.

“Thank you, everyo — ooh.” He elicits a round of laughter as he winces at the sharp screech of feedback. “Ah, as I was saying, thank you, everyone, for being with us tonight. It means a lot to Juneun and me that you’re here to share this day with us. Family is… everything to us. We couldn’t be where we are without them. And we couldn’t be _who_ we are without our friends. We owe so much to everyone her with us tonight, and we couldn’t be more grateful that you’re also here to celebrate our marriage.”

In place of applause, someone — Baekhee, Juneun realizes without an ounce of surprise — raises their glass and starts tapping away at it with their fork. Everyone else follows suit. Yifan chuckles nervously and turns to Juneun. It’s the first time that she’s ever actually seen him vulnerable all day. He looks uncertain as to whether he should do it. His lips quirk and he aborts a movement to reach for her. His arm is stiff in the space between them, not quite touching her but also not dropping back to his side.

She spares him the awkwardness by cupping his cheek and kissing him. It’s just as pure and innocent as their first, but that doesn’t stop the crowd from going wild. At least only a few select people know the real circumstances of their union. To them, the awkwardness must be palpable, a trainwreck they just can’t look away from. To everyone else, they’re just another couple blushing as they’re forced to share public displays of affection. At least Yifan’s starting to grow on her, a tolerable acquaintance if nothing else. She smiles as they part, and she notices a hint of pinkness on his cheeks.

Yifan clears his throat. “Well, thanks for listening, everybody. Please, enjoy the food.” With a sweeping one-handed gesture, he moves to sit down beside Juneun as the caterers start to work.

They eat in silence, nibbling at the appetizers before utilizing full bites of entrées as an excuse not to speak to one another. It isn’t like they’re ignoring each other; they’ve brushed elbows accidentally once or twice and rushed to apologize. The food is also really good. Even if she was comfortable enough to converse with him, she wouldn’t want to put it down to do so. At some point during the main course, Juneun catches Baekhee and Jonghae’s eyes.

“Talk to him,” they mouth in unison with exaggerated gestures. It’s one of their rare pieces of good advice, offered once every 500 years when the planets align.

Juneun peers at Yifan out of the corner of her eye and finds that he’s also watching her. They both laugh into their napkins as they reach for the champagne. It’s still hopelessly painful, but laughing together is better than nothing. She clears her throat. “So… nice reception, hm?” Oh, God. She’s so lame. So, so, so lame.

“Yeah,” Yifan replies. The decorations are a bit much, but I guess extravagance is something our families have in common.” Oh, that’s nice. Talking about family, that’s… a start. They _do_ both have families, so there’s at least one thing they share.

“Tell me about it,” she titters. “I have twin younger sisters, and they are the _biggest_ handful. They’ve got, like, this sort of hivemind and their singular objective is to be as annoying as possible. What about you? Do you have any siblings?”

Yifan puffs up his cheeks and blows out the air, eyes wide and his brows raised. “My family is huge. There’s step-siblings, half-siblings, all sorts of criss-crossing and whatnot. There’s always been chaos in my household, so I just… I can’t imagine what it’s like to just have two.” He laughs, and it’s a pleasant sound. “Not that I would trade them in for the world, but sometimes I just wonder what it’s like to have a tiny, little dinner table. Maybe I can finally get seconds for once.”

Juneun stifles her laugh, covering mouth as her cheeks fill with garlic bread. After swallowing, she speaks. “That must be fun, though, to have a lot of siblings? It’s like a bunch of automatic best friends —”

She halts as he reaches over to wipe the corner of her mouth, catching her off guard. “Oh — sorry, you just had a little…” He’s starting to look like he’s regretting his action.

“It’s fine,” she says quietly. It’s awkward again is what it is. The pair returns to their meals, apparently reversing the very little progress that they’d made. She was hoping to get comfortable enough to pilfer food from his plate, since he had considerably more sauce on his steak than she did, but, alas.

She doesn’t have much time to lament her meager portions, however, before Baekhee stands up, a microphone in hand. “If I could have everyone’s — mostly my lovely sister’s — attention —”

“I’m already listening,” Jonghae says loudly.

  
“And that’s why I said _lovely_ sister,” Baekhee says. She cackles just as loudly as everyone else. Once they’ve all quieted down, she adopts a more serious expression. “Juneunie, I can’t say how happy I am to be here for you today. I remember when we were little, the three of us would always play dress up, and I can say with complete confidence and sincerity that you’re as beautiful a bride now as you were back then.

“The part we _didn’t_ account for was how hot your husband is! I mean, he’s no Leonardo DiCaprio in _Titanic_ , but _hubba hubba_!”

Juneun flushes as she feels Yifan shake in laughter against her. She nudges him lightly. “Don’t encourage her,” she says. He doesn’t reply verbally, instead squeezing her shoulder as he ducks behind her.

“But, back to seriousness,” Baekhee continues, “sis, you’re quite honestly the best person I’ve ever met. You’re a little nosy, and yeah, you sometimes jump the gun — ahem, the camping failure of 2008 — but, if there’s anybody in the world who deserves to be happy and to have a hella hot and hella cool husband, it’s you. I love you!” She blows a kiss, which Juneun catches and brings to her lips.

She passes the microphone to Yifan’s best man, who delivers his speech in Chinese. It must’ve been funny, seeing as Yifan and his family burst into guffaws every few sentences, the former sinking further behind Juneun as the speech goes on. The man, whose name card she can’t read from that far away, is an animated storyteller. His innocent, effeminate face belies an exaggerated raconteur, capable of twisting his pretty visage into grotesque expressions to (or so she assumes) take the piss out of poor, embarrassed Yifan.

“You know you’re gonna have to tell me what he said later,” Juneun whispers, smiling blandly as if she understands what’s being said.

“No way,” Yifan says as he wipes the corners of his eyes. “I’m taking this to the grave, hon. You heard what your sister said — I’m ‘hella cool.’ I have an image to maintain.” His face is partially pressed against her back, breath warming the junction between her shoulder and neck. The best man points out his hiding, and Juneun leans so that she’s blocking him further, earning a chortle from the crowd.

Once he finishes speaking, the DJ makes his way to the little booth behind them and opens up the dance floor. A few of the younger folks race to the center, but Juneun goes in the opposite direction.

She turns instead to the balcony, taking advantage of the crowd’s distraction for a little break. She leans against the railing, releasing a sigh as her head drops. So far, the day really hasn’t been as bad as she expected it to be. Her husband didn’t seem like a misogynistic dick, and she currently didn’t believe jumping off the terrace was the best course of action. He, in fact, seemed like the opposite — funny, charming, respectful. Juneun wouldn’t mind talking to him again, but the air between them is still just a little stiff. In conclusion, it appears she’d gotten worked up over nothing. That wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. It was better to be pleasantly surprised than massively disappointed.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Yifan leans against the railing with his hip. She would’ve expected him to join Baekhee’s budding (and very boisterous) conga line, but he apparently decided being with her was more preferable. She speculates that he’s an introvert, like her. There’s only so much attention either of them can take. “Today’s been… pretty intense, so I just wanted to see how you were holding up.”

Juneun purses her lips as she considers her response. “Can I ask you something?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“Is this… how you saw your life panning out? Getting married at a twenty-five? I mean, when I just say ‘getting married’ it doesn’t sound like that big of a deal, but… I don’t know.” She looks away. “I thought I had this all planned out. When I was gonna get married, what I was gonna do before I got married. I had these dreams, and then… My mom went and blew 250 million won.”

“I see,” Yifan says.

Her head shoots up. “Oh, I didn’t mean — I. You’re a great guy, and I’m sure we’re gonna get along just fine —”

“No, no.” Yifan shakes his head. “I get what you’re saying. I think if I were you I’d feel the same way. But, I don’t know. I always saw myself as a go-with-the-flow sort of guy. Que sera sera and all that.” His posture reflects his words quite well, given the way he leisurely rests against the concrete, as well as the lazy drawl of his speech. There’s a little development in their relationship — they’ve found a difference between them.

“I wish I could be like you. I’m sure my anxiety levels would be way lower,” she chuckles.

Yifan shrugs, lips twitching. “Oh, I don’t know about that.” The way he speaks gives him this sort of noble quality. Like he’s far wiser beyond his years, like he’s worldly and experienced and sophisticated. It makes her feel a little inferior, but her curiosity is piqued more than her insecurity inflamed. He looks at her, biting his lip as if reconsidering what he’s about to say. “I’m glad all my choices, whatever they were, brought me to you, though. If there was any woman I’d want to marry on such… short notice, it’d be you, Juneun.”

She smiles at him, feeling her cheeks warm. It’s a nice sentiment. She hadn’t been expecting it. “Thank you. I feel the same way about you too.”

He says nothing for a moment. They just watch each other. She finally has time to really take in his handsomeness. Yifan is just as beautiful still as he is in motion. There’s something alluring, arresting about his gaze. His kindness only makes him even handsomer. Surely, a man this wonderful has to have secrets. No one is perfect. It’s a good thing she has all the time in the world to figure them out.

“Are you tired?” he asks eventually. “If so, we can just cut the cake and call it a night after a few slices.”

“A little,” she admits. She takes his arm when he offers it, finding him a comfortable man to lean against.

…

Yifan pulls his _very_ nice car into the parking lot of an apartment building, one of the nicer skyscrapers in Gangnam. She had to crane her head to look at it through the window; it was a building she recognized — as one of her dream apartments once her bakery got big enough for her to afford one. Yet here Yifan was, evidently a longtime resident. Of course he was rich. Of course. The Rolls Royce they drove off in should’ve given it away. In a very gentleman like manner, he opens the door for her to both get in and get out.

“Your, uh, parents sent your things over this morning,” he says, scratching the back of his head as he jabs the button to the penthouse suite and the button to close the elevator doors. Of _course_ he lives in the penthouse, too. _Of course_. They’re standing a good foot apart in their third elevator trip as a married couple in less than twenty-four hours. Despite their friendly touches just an hour ago, she doesn’t feel quite comfortable touching him in private.

Contrary to Baekhee’s expectations, they decided to forgo a honeymoon. Yifan was overbooked by several months — Juneun supposes his massive client base is why he can afford the penthouse apartment in the first place — and Juneun preferred to go straight back to work. She was glad that they both agreed to it while planning the wedding and that Yifan suggested it first. It made her look marginally better than a completely unwilling party. It was an apt moniker at the time, but now she finds herself… ambivalent to it all.

Yifan flickers on the light switch and drops his keys in a little bowl above the shoe rack after pressing in a four digit code to his front door. Juneun bites back a gasp. It’s _huge_ — she recalls him mentioning three bedrooms and two bathrooms, both having a shower and the master also featuring a tub, on the ride over, but somehow she hadn’t expected such luxurious minimalism. There’s lots of open space and his furniture is very modern, full of straight lines and angles. His kitchen is around the corner from his dining room, which has a very simplistic geometric chandelier hanging over it. It’s certainly different from the little box she previously called home. Juneun wonders if Yifan ever found the place too empty while he was living alone.

His voice cuts through her thoughts. “I took the liberty of having your things put in the guest room. I presumed you would rather sleep in a separate room, so I…” He lifts a shoulder awkwardly. Not at all the charmer he was at the wedding, Juneun finds herself somewhat endeared by this new side of him. “Sorry for assuming so much.”

“Don’t be. I appreciate it.” She hopes he perceives her chuckle to be reassuring and not mocking. “Um, so my room is…”

“This one.” He leads her down a hallway with one room at the end, one door to the left, and another to the right. The door to the left is closest to what she presumes is the master bedroom. Judging by the proximity, they share a wall. “I’m right next to it, so if you need anything, just holler. I’ll let you get settled in.” He opens the door for her and then just as quickly shuffles into his own space. After a brief moment, his head pops back out. “Oh, I almost forgot. Good night.”

“Good night.”

She goes into her bedroom. While Yifan’s apartment is conservative in its furnishings, the guest room she’s now meant to occupy is downright empty. There’s a bed in the corner across the large windows, boxes up against the far wall. Some of them contain her belonging. Others hold furniture her interior designer mother had selected for her, like a vanity, worktable, and a nightstand. None of them suit her personal tastes very much. Yet again, she is left choiceless. There’s not much to see in the dark, though, and her shoulders sag in exhaustion. It’s best to just go to bed.

She has to dig a bit before she finds her pajamas, a little more nosing around to find her dental hygiene products, and then some snooping to find the bathroom. By the time she’s completed her nightly ritual of brushing her teeth and washing her face, she’s thoroughly tuckered out. Her customarily lengthy skincare routine can wait until tomorrow, when she’s gotten her bearings. As with any new place, it’ll time to get used to it. She’s pleased that it’s an upgrade and not a downgrade, although that’s what it appears to be on the surface. There’s got to be some negatives, which she’ll find out for herself eventually.

Juneun crawls into the surprisingly pliant bed and falls asleep the moment her head hits the pillow.

When she awakens six hours later, she momentarily forgets where she is. The empty room she’s claimed is almost half the size of her apartment. Her things still aren’t unpacked, giving the room an unlived-in atmosphere. After she brushes her teeth and showers, she enters the dining room to find a covered breakfast gone gold waiting for her on the table. Two post-its frame the meal, one with a timestamp for the microwave, the other a written note from Yifan. She picks it up delicately, admiring the stationery. It’s customized, with his name, work phone number, and professional e-mail address in gold Times New Roman at the top. A cute, cartoony arrow with heart-shaped fletching spans the bottom.

“Good morning!” Yifan’s message reads. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be here when you woke up, but you know what they say — love waits for no one. I made you some French toast. Your mother said it’s your favorite! I’ll see you tonight. Yours, Yifan.”

The fact that he dots his i’s with hearts makes her lips twitch. Juneun puts the note down and goes to heat up her breakfast. Her mother misinformed him — she enjoys French omelettes substantially more, but, at the very least, the food’s ostensible nationality was left intact. At least she can tell him the truth over dinner. The pure domesticity of the thought, mused over her food, goes ignored in favor of hustling down to the bakery. It wouldn’t do for the boss to be late, after all.

…

Unfortunately for her, Juneun’s employees enjoy getting to work early. Before the little bell gets to even the midpoint of its brief chime, her head cashier is upon her, bombarding her with words. He resembles a puppy whose owner just returned from work, rambunctious and loud. He quickly abandons his task of hanging little brown and orange streamers to pester her.

“Good-morning-how-is-your-first-work-day-as-a-married-woman-did-you-make-up-for-your-lack-of-honeymoon-last-night-is-that-why-you-came-in- _after_ -us-today-haha-wow-is-he-good?” Juneun briefly thinks that Chanyeol would have a rather lucrative career in rap, given his speed and the amount of words he can fit into a single breath. The younger man smiles expectantly at her at the end of his run-on question.

“Fine, no, no and I wouldn’t know,” she says evenly, finding herself smiling back as Chanyeol snickers. “You know, if you asked those questions to any boss but me, you’d probably be immediately fired, right?”

Chanyeol guffaws and drapes an arm around her shoulder. They walk together to the back room, where Kyungsoon, another worker, is taking inventory. “I know, noona,” Chanyeol chirps. “Why do you think I’m still here?”

“So you can snack on some of our stock during your break,” Kyungsoon says dryly. “Congratulations and welcome back, unnie.”

“Thank you.” Juneun nods, prompting a smile from the other woman. “How are we doing today?”

“We’re all good to go with our pumpkin spice cookies, fresh out of the oven. Minseok-oppa wants to make a few changes to the fall cake pops so they don’t taste too much like the Christmas ones, but he figured he ought to have you taste them first before doing anything major,” the younger dutifully reports. “And, as you can probably tell, Chanyeol already got to decorating the shop for the season.”

“I did,” Juneun replies. “He’s very good at drawing oak tree leaves. Our windows have never looked better.”

Without a hint of humility or irony: “I try.”

The door to the back room opens, accompanied by a soft, chastising voice. “You’re barely back and already throwing yourself into work Juneun-ah? I recall insisting you take some more time off to acclimate to your new situation — and I’m pretty sure jageuneomeoni agreed with me.” Minseok, her cousin, was generally the head behind the counter _. How Are You Bread_ was their little joint project. While Juneun baked (quite well, she might add), she made use of her degree in business administration to deal with the fiscal side of their enterprise while Minseok dominated the kitchen.

So, technically, she _could_ have stayed in the penthouse and worked at home, but she’d rather take a more active role in the business, considering she owns 65% equity to Minseok’s 35%. “You know I’d get too restless,” she responds flippantly. “I have a habit of contracting cabin fever when I sit on my couch for longer than five hours.”

Minseok rolls his eyes, clearly unconvinced. “I’m sure.”

“Well,” Juneun says, clapping her hands together. “We’re a quarter-hour to opening, so let’s get all of this out into the display trays. I’ll work on the cake pop recipe in my office and we can get to trying it after closing.”

“Sure thing, boss!” Chanyeol warbles.

The work day proceeds as usual, their most popular time being in the afternoon as students piled in to grab some snacks before heading off to cram school. Juneun herself had been pretty productive, adjusting their budget for the upcoming fiscal quarter. She decided on switching the milk chocolate in their fall cake pops with white chocolate to add more of a sugary taste and less of a cocoa flavor, to be saved for their advent pops.

Minseok knocks on her door during their lunch break, a look on his face that Juneun can only describe as adorably menacing. It’s clear that, despite how innocent he likes to seem, he’s just as nosy as Chanyeol. At the very least, he has the decency not to be obnoxious about it.

“So,” Minseok says, entering even though she hasn’t voiced a welcome and because that’s how anyone starts a gossipy conversation, “Yifan. How is he?” He plops down on her tiny loveseat, putting his food and drink on her desk. She has to shuffle papers to make sure he doesn’t get any condensation or spills on them.

“I’ve known him for less than forty-eight hours,” she sighs, giving him the best _Seriously?_ look she can manage. “But, I mean… I guess he’s a nice guy. He made me breakfast this morning.”

His brows raise. Minseok’s eating it up. Though, it is the job of a best friend to be a hype man. “Is that the only thing of his you ate?”

“Oh my God!” Juneun gasps. “ _Minseok_!”

“It’s a legitimate question.”

Juneun huffs, rolling her eyes. “Yes, it is. We slept in separate rooms, okay? We didn’t have sex, and I don’t see us having sex in the foreseeable future.”

“Oh, boo,” Minseok pouts at the same time Chanyeol shouts “Aww!” from the hallway. “So are you just gonna, what, live with him? You’re just gonna be legally-bound roommates? That’s not fun.”

“Marriage isn’t supposed to be fun.” She pauses, correcting herself. “ _Arranged_ marriage isn’t supposed to be fun. I mean, it’d be nice to do the whole cliché falling in love thing, but I highly doubt that’s going to happen. We’re both way too busy, and you know that.”

Minseok pops a dumpling into his mouth. “More’s the pity.” They return to their meals in silence. It’s how they usually spend their lunches, talking in between bites of their favorite dishes. Occasionally, they’ll go out to eat and leave Kyungsoon in charge while they’re gone, but not today. Juneun gets the feeling that Minseok is nursing a hangover, which he all but confirms when he blurts out, “I hooked up with the best man.”

The non-sequitur gives her pause, unsure how to respond. They’ve conversed about a lot of topics, though their romantic lives went relatively untouched. Juneun’s unaware if he’s trying to brag; if so, it’s rather weak. “Well, at least _someone_ got laid last night,” Juneun says dryly.

“I was making a point,” Minseok scolds, “before you so rudely interrupted me. What I was going to say was that I didn’t plan on hooking up with Yifan’s best man. I don’t think a lot of people go to weddings knowing they’re going to have sex that night, except the bride and groom.

“Point being, it’s okay to let the unexpected in. You don’t have to have your head stuck up Prometheus’s ass all the time. It’s okay to let the world surprise you every once in a while, y’know?”

She shrugs, stabbing at her pasta with a fork. The penne’s gone cold by now. The visual was very unwanted, especially with the way her mushrooms look.

“All I’m saying,” Minseok continues, “is that it probably wouldn’t be so bad to try falling in love with Yifan. I mean, I’m not the guy and I was only looking for a little bit, but… it seemed to me like he was pretty interested.”

Juneun says nothing, but decides to store that piece of information for later.

Just to humor him.

All in all, it’s a regular Sunday up until 7:55 PM, just five minutes before closing. Very few of their customers cut it that close, and they’re usually not regulars. None of them, however, warrant Chanyeol’s holler of, “Noona! Your hubby’s here!”

Juneun was in the middle of cracking her neck. It’s a pure miracle that she doesn’t snap it in surprise, and she races out of her office to confirm if his yelling was true.

Yifan, in all of his dapper, broad-shouldered glory, bends over to examine one of the maple leaf cookies they have on display. Upon her entrance, he looks up, lips forming a gentle smile. “Hey there, wifey,” he teases. Chanyeol’s _aww_ ing and the subsequent stretching of Yifan’s grin makes her flush. This wasn’t how she planned on introducing him to the mockery-prone cashier.

“W-what are you doing here?” she asks. No one else is there to witness her flustered state, though she has no doubt Minseok is eavesdropping from the back. Kyungsoon, at the very least, respects her privacy. Thank God for her being the only other woman working weekends.

“Here to pick you up,” Yifan replies, spreading his hands. “My last appointment ended an hour ago, so…”

“Oh.”

Chanyeol nudges her. “You should go home, noona. We can handle closing up by ourselves. Plus, Minseok-hyung’s here. Go on, enjoy a matrimonial evening, or whatever the youngins are calling it these days.”

Juneun hurls him a scandalized look but still goes back into her office to gather her things into her purse. He’s one to talk, considering he’s younger than her. “You have a very unhealthy obsession with my sex life, Yeollie,” she calls, momentarily forgetting Yifan was still in the building until his soft chuckle wafted over the counter.

“I have an unhealthy obsession with your stress level,” the younger retorts, pushing the little door open for her. “We all know what the world’s most enjoyable de-stressor is, and you’re right within its grasp. _Excuse me_ for being concerned for your mental health.”

“That claim is _very_ debatable.” There’s a brief hesitation as Yifan slips his hand into hers. She squeezes his hand tentatively. Holding hands with him is nice, she concludes. “I guess I’m off for the day. Try not to get your fingers jammed by the display case while swiping leftovers.”

Yifan shares a snicker with her as they exit, ignoring Chanyeol’s indignant reply of “Tell Kyungsoon not to slam the case on my hand, then!”

The Rolls Royce is parked just across the street. Juneun is surprised he’d let such an expensive car sit unchecked outside but supposes it wasn’t exactly far, nor was he away for very long. Yet again, he opens the door for her before crossing to the other side and slipping into the driver’s seat. “Okie-dokie,” he mumbles to himself as he starts the car. “How was your day?”

“Good,” she says. She’s being very vague — too vague. Be nice. “I got a lot done, but it’s… pretty boring stuff. I did rework one of our recipes, though. That’s usually Minseok’s job. I guess that was just his way of giving me a little wedding gift?”

“Better than the blender he _actually_ gave us, I’m sure.”

“Considering we have, like, forty blenders? Yes.” Juneun pulls her eyes from the winding road in front of them to study Yifan’s profile. Illuminated by streetlamps, she can’t help but be taken again by how dreadfully beautiful he is. As if crafted by the goddess of beauty herself. The sideview makes his lips look plumper, enhanced by an amused quirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “What about you? I’m sure your day was significantly more interesting than mine.”

Yifan spares a brief second at a stoplight to look at her. “Generally, I try to keep my work confidential, but that’s because most of the people who want to know _love_ to talk to make themselves look better. But I don’t think you’re like that. Are you?”

“I’d never tell a soul,” she says, putting on a solemn air. Juneun lifts her hand. “Pinky promise.”

Yifan laughs, turning back to the road. His hand reaches over to tangle with hers, hooking fingers. It’s far larger than hers, probably twice its size. “Pinky promise.” He hums softly. “A majority of my clients are usually women of the… older variety — which is why I was so surprised when your mother sought me out on your behalf. Getting back on track, though, today, I met with three clients, all within the ages of forty to fifty. They’re very lovely ladies. According to my secretary, they waited a long time to see me.”

Juneun knows he’s popular. Prior to their wedding, she’d done her research. He’s never gotten a single bad review, and she had scoured the depths of the internet to find _anything_ resembling an occupational flaw. There was nothing. Yifan was apparently the best of the best. She can’t imagine the length of a waitlist for someone of his caliber, despite the fact he’d apparently started matchmaking in his teens in the early 2000s. “Does it ever get repetitive? You have one major demographic, right? Older, unmarried women?” She almost calls them ‘spinsters,’ but it isn’t the most flattering moniker, and she doesn’t want to appear rude.

“Not at all,” Yifan responds. “I think it’s lovely, actually. It shows that love is… a thing that unites the whole world, I suppose. Everyone wants to find love in one form or another. And that desire is universal. It transcends age, sex, every other qualifier.” His eyes seem to sparkle as he speaks. She admires people who are passionate about their work; Yifan is certainly that. There’s a stigma against people like him, that they’re probably just con artists and good improv actors who like preying on weak-minded people for a quick buck. It’s very easy to bullshit horoscopes and slap together a nice date with two people who _might_ get along. The fact that he’s successful _and_ enthusiastic, however, is a testament to his authenticity. “Maybe I’m just being… idealistic, I don’t know.”

Juneun shakes her head. She doesn’t even recognize that they’ve pulled into the garage until she notes Yifan unbuckling his seatbelt, and she scrambles to follow him. “Oh,” she hums. “I never thought of it that way. I’ve never really considered myself a romantic, so…”

“We’re a rare breed,” Yifan hums. His hand again finds hers, leading her to their door while the other smoothly unlocks it and pushes it open. “I don’t resent the world for its cynicism; balance is a necessary element of the world. Did you eat dinner already?”

The non-sequitur almost catches her off guard. “Oh, no. Did you?” She places her purse next to the couch and sits on it, patting the cushion beside her in invitation.

“Mm-mm.” Yifan plops beside her and slumps, almost as if melting. “I can just Ubereats something — do you like Thai?” He taps away on his phone, hand propped on his chest.

“That’s fine with me.” She smiles at his sudden (and terrible) change in posture. Juneun had only ever really seen him as prim and proper, if a tad playful, yet there’s now a semblance of domesticity. The awkward air between them just twenty-four hours earlier is greatly lessened, if not nonexistent. They’re learning about each other again. It’s nice.

“Back to my day,” Yifan snorts, drawing her attention back to the present. “Three ladies, really nice. One of them was a widow, her husband died a few years ago because of a… botched robbery, I believe.”

“Oh, poor lady.”

Their conversation persists with ease, through waiting for the delivery, through dinner, and up until the wee hours of night until they finally retired to their bedrooms.

Yifan, she learns, is a tried and true romantic. Falling in love is, according to him, the greatest feeling in all the world, and soulmates exist. He speaks of love with such reverence and longing and respect that she finds it hard not to be endeared by him. She concludes that it’s a good thing to be married to a romantic. He does things like pick her up after work and buy them dinner when they come home. Talks about his day and asks her about hers. Listens intently, offers insightful commentary, and looks at her like she hung the sun.

That last one, unfortunately, might’ve been a little wishful thinking.

Juneun sleeps easier that night with the veneer of comfort hanging over her.

…

In the ensuing weeks, they fall into a cozy little routine. Yifan comes by every _How Are You Bread_ night, for the most part around the same time, to pick her up. They go home, talk about their work days, and then go to bed in their separate rooms.

Their safe, snug routine, though, is broken several times. The first was in the early days in their marriage as they washed up before bed.

“Um,” Juneun had eloquently began.

It was enough to draw Yifan’s attention, who responded with a “Hm?”

“I just… wanted to clear something up.” She was leaning against Yifan’s doorway, arms crossed. “I don’t _think_ this of you — you’ve been nothing but the sweetest guy this entire time I’ve known you — but… God, this is awkward… I, uh, like things the way they are? I really hope you don’t expect me to… put out, or whatever. It sounds silly when I say it like that, but I wanted to make sure we’re both on the same page. That’s not what this marriage is about.” It couldn’t even really be called that, given the fact that it had never been consummated. They couldn’t even claim a domestic partnership — the most they could compare themselves to were friendly roommates.

As she spoke (stuttered, really), Yifan’s brows furrowed and his lips pulled into a frown. The expression wasn’t hurt or offended, but Juneun also couldn’t quite name it exactly. Regret? Resignation? Yifan pulled the toothbrush out of his mouth. “That’s a valid concern.” He stepped aside to invite her in, ducking quickly into the bathroom to finish freshening up. His return maintained the serious air she’d created. He invited her to sit on his bed and took a seat a notable, mannerly distance from her on his mattress.

“I know it might be … a little strange. I can’t blame you for being apprehensive towards me. Your parents asked me to find a match for you, and that person ended up being me. I know they got a confirming second opinion, but that still doesn’t make it any less weird.” Yifan levelled his gaze with hers. “I promise you, I have no such designs on you. I’ll admit that I find you very attractive, and I’m open to having a more-than-friendly relationship with you in the future, but only with your consent.”

Juneun swallowed, finding a lump in her throat. She didn’t know what she was expecting, but the reassurance was incredibly welcomed. She had her apprehensions towards speaking about their marriage so candidly. The most she could manage was a quiet, “Thank you.”

“I won’t have sex with you unless you want me to,” Yifan continued. “I’m your husband and your friend, not your owner. The last thing I’d want to do is take advantage of you. Pinky promise.”

He raised his hand, extending it toward her. He smiled, comforting. Juneun released a breath she wasn’t aware she was holding. Yifan’s openness was relieving. The revelation of his existing attraction to her shouldn’t have been as heartening as it was, but she felt consoled by his honesty. Juneun had nodded, interlocking their pinkies together. “Pinky promise.”

Another break in routine came about in the form of Yifan’s mother. Juneun hadn’t met the woman at the wedding because of their hasty exit, and she could tell that left a very sour taste in Bing-bing’s (though she would insist Juneun call her ‘ma’am’ or a variation thereof) mouth. She dropped in unexpectedly, already seated in their apartment when they got home one night. Yifan admitted that he told her his code when he first moved in, not realizing she would still use it after he was married.

Juneun almost groaned aloud. Yifan was a total and utter mama’s boy. Anyone who refers to their mom as “mother” while speaking to her was clearly wrapped around her finger.

“Welcome home,” Bing-bing had said, not looking up from the magazine resting on her lap and the table.

Yifan was the first to react. “Mother,” he gasped, stumbling quickly over to the dining table where she was sitting. “What are you doing here?”

Bing-bing was a clear indication of where Yifan got his extraordinarily good genes from. She was absolutely breathtaking, fitting Snow White’s descriptors and more. If there ever was an example of perfect proportions, she was it. Soft jaw on an oval face, flawless skin, and sultry eyes, it was very easy to see the resemblance. She had a somewhat conceited air about her, like she knew she was more beautiful than you and revelled in it. Juneun looked so very plain next to her, and Bing-bing didn’t hesitate to let her know that she knew. “Hm,” she said, avoiding Yifan’s question. She instead eyed Juneun, who stammered out a greeting, with a frightening degree of criticism. “She’s just average.”

“Mother!” Yifan said again. He sent Juneun an apologetic look. “She gets crabby when she hasn’t eaten. Have you, mother? Eaten yet?”

Only after Yifan’s question did Bing-bing look away. “No,” she answered. “I was hoping to have dinner with the two of you, actually. I want to get to know my daughter-in-law better, you see.” The more she stared at her, the more Juneun believed a woman who looked that young couldn’t possibly be Yifan’s mother. She also believed the woman was not going to be kind to her in the slightest.

“I’ll whip something up,” Juneun said quickly and escaped into the kitchen.

She was very lucky that they actually had groceries and thus was spared the indignity of peeking her head out and saying they’ll have to get some take-out. The problem was that there wasn’t actually very much. Juneun wasn’t a chef-class cook by any means. She knew how to make relatively basic dishes; baking, a completely different animal, was more her forté. Her limited menu and lack of ingredients did not bode well for trying to impress a mother-in-law who already thought she was ugly.

In the end, Juneun decided to cook some chicken and prepare some basic vegetable and egg side dishes. It was a quaint dinner, but Yifan nevertheless smiled gently and thanked her when they all sat down to eat.

Bing-bing, conversely, scoffed. “Not only is she… ordinary, she can’t even prepare a decent meal. I hope her baking is better, or else that business of hers is going to tank. I have no idea why her mother was running around saying she was perfect and as beautiful as Aphrodite. Evidence to the contrary is very clearly in front of us right here.”

Okay, that stung a little. Juneun wasn’t sure what she did to offend Yifan’s mother so deeply, but she doubted it would inspire such vitriol. She looked to Yifan for some, for any kind of backup, but he merely looked pained and refrained from saying anything.

Criticizing her cooking and looks wasn’t all that Bing-bing did. Their dinner conversation turned quickly into an interrogation, and it seemed as though none of Juneun’s answers pleased her. It was impossible to find out what the woman wanted from her. After finding out they slept in separate rooms, something Bing-bing snooped out instead of either Juneun or Yifan willingly offering the information, she’d rolled her eyes. She then went to look, commenting on the state of Juneun’s room (messy) and the state of her wardrobe (dreadful). There was a whole laundry list of complaints Juneun received, and she didn’t have a single witty retort.

She released a sigh of relief as soon as Bing-bing finally left, glad to be free of every single one of her insecurities voiced out loud. The moment the woman was gone, Yifan scooped her into an incredibly unprecedented embrace. It made Juneun freeze, unsure of what to do. He was squeezing her — not painfully, but they’d never had so many body parts touching at once before.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “I know I should’ve said something. She was being so mean to you, but I… it was cowardly of me. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Juneun said, dazed. “Don’t worry about it.”

Yifan pulled back, but didn’t let go of her shoulders. Guilt was written across his body language, from the angle of his legs to the way his shoulders curved and his head hung low. Without his mother around, it seemed as though Yifan was ready to be himself again. “No, it’s not. I shouldn’t have let her speak to you like that. You mean a lot to me.”

She smiled at that and patted his cheek lightly. The words made her chest feel warm. “Well, it’s nice to know that I have a knight in shining armor against… everyone else.”

The night wasn’t perfect, but at the very least, it taught Yifan and Juneun that they didn’t have to be shy when touching each other past holding hands.

Beyond that, they returned to life as usual, with nary a complaint from their friends and family.

As October approaches fast, though, there is a shift. A marginal one, but an existing one nonetheless. It went mostly unnoticed. Juneun’s feelings towards Yifan were expected to grow. They’d went from strangers to acquaintances, and then from acquaintances to friends. She never imagined she might transition from friend to crush, so she was content to think of him as just a close friend who was really handsome and nice and total boyfriend material.

It was the little things. The way he would help her cook, sharing recipes some of his clients gave him as an extra thanks for his service. She enjoyed giving him back rubs when he came home, worried over the many knots he apparently had and the jolt he’d given when she rubbed over his shoulder blades. Talking with Yifan was never dull, and despite their opposite dispositions, they shared many of the same opinions. He was funny and intelligent, always ready to contribute to a conversation no matter the topic. When they talked, he would always look her in the eye, taking her seriously unless it was obvious she was joking. Although she had been trying her damndest to find a flaw, it was very difficult to do so. He was hitting every one of her buttons.

Boyfriend material indeed. How lucky she is that she gets to call him her husband.

They were already painfully domestic. They shared chores, sometimes taking over when the other was too tired. Sometimes, they took lunch together. She and Yifan were even thinking about adopting a little puppy — the epitome of couplehood.

It’s all nuance, which she carelessly glossed over until a proverbial breaking point was reached.

Which it is, one late September evening after Juneun secured a deal to open another _How Are You Bread_ location in Busan.

Yifan picked her up as usual, revealing Minseok had told him earlier of their accomplishment. Juneun pouted at that, having wanted to reveal it to him herself, but settled when Yifan informed her that they were going to have a celebratory dinner at home. Just the two of them.

(The stirring in her stomach at the five-word phrase should’ve been a sign. She didn’t pick up on it.)

The announcement had her bouncing in her seat in his car, eliciting a snicker from her spouse and a teasing admonishment to be patient. “I haven’t even started cooking yet,” Yifan murmured, voice low. “The groceries are still in my trunk.”

It was no secret to anyone who knew her that, for all her love for baking, sushi was Juneun’s favorite food. With that piece of public knowledge in mind, Yifan apparently decided to make a whole feast for her — some of the sushi is store-bought, but the massive display he concocted certainly wasn’t. Complete with bento grass, Yifan lined a large wooden boat with almost every single type of sushi under the sun.

“Oh… my _God_ ,” Juneun gapes when he brings it out. The sake she had been sipping, her back turned so as to preserve the secrecy of Yifan’s machinations, sits abandoned beside her as she openly salivates over the sushi boat. “This must’ve cost a fortune, Fan.”

The man shrugs. “Basically everything in my life does.” After setting it carefully down on the table, Yifan spreads his hands. “Bon appetit — ah, _itadakimasu_.”

She snorts, repeating him, and then quickly loads her plate with sashimi and a few rolls. “Thank you,” she adds in the midst of her feast, finally recalling her manners, “for putting this together. It’s really sweet of you.”

“Of course,” Yifan replies. “You deserve it, after all your hard work.” He grins at her, fond and affectionate. “In fact —”

“What?” Juneun’s eyes widen as Yifan stands, lifting his little cup of sake. Almost as if —

“I wanna have a little toast —- to you.” He chuckles lightly at her bewildered expression. “Oh don’t look at me like that. You deserve one. You, Kim Juneun, are an extraordinary woman. I’ve only known you for a few weeks, but even in a matter of days, I’ve learned you are hardworking, dedicated, and passionate. And as time went on, I found that you are also a kind, compassionate, considerate, and caring individual. Your selflessness and your love for your family and friends make me proud to call you my wife. You are so, so wonderful, and you deserve every bit of success that comes your way, including this one.” Yifan raises his cup to eye level. “To you, and to _How Are You Bread_.”

“To us,” Juneun says and downs her drink. “You know, that’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

Yifan snorts around his mouthful. “I just figured I ought to make up for my speech — or at least its sincerity — at our wedding.”

“Well, it was very nice,” Juneun responds. The meal continues on with ease. Despite Yifan’s usual aversion to fish, he seems to take in the food with little difficulty. The mention of the wedding, often brought up as a joke, though, cannot go unnoticed in her mind. _What if_ he’d had time to prepare something as touching and heartfelt before they tied the knot? The experience of getting married would’ve definitely been more acceptable to her, that’s for sure. Cohabiting with Yifan is, perhaps, the very opposite of torture. The possibility of enthusiasm on her wedding day, however, was next to nothing given the actual circumstance. What a shame.

Neither of them, as it turns out, are particularly big eaters. Juneun found herself constantly fretting over Yifan’s slim frame, while Yifan always encouraged her to eat more, knowing she worked so hard that she forgot meals. Thus, despite the breadth and quantity of the dinner, they were forced to wrap and refrigerate the food, lamenting the freshness of the fish. The pair retire to the couch, pressed into each other’s sides as they speak.

Throughout their conversation, she always keeps coming back to his toast in her head. Yifan had all but declared his love for her. There was nothing preventing a platonic speech explaining just how wonderful one found their friend, but Yifan had said weeks ago that he wouldn’t mind falling in love with her. The more she thinks about it, the more Juneun begins to chicken out. She grows ever closer to believing it was just wishful thinking.

“You’re quiet,” Yifan murmurs, lips very close to her ear. He takes her hand into his larger one, examining her ring. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”

 _Now or never_ , a particularly daring voice in her head crows. “I was just thinking,” Juneun whispers, “if we’re rehashing wedding practices…” She knits their fingers together.

Yifan pauses. “Yeah?”

“I’d like to make a little speech of my own,” she declares. “One to match yours.” She grins at his obvious surprise, sitting up and miming a toast. He chuckles, mirroring her pose.

“Wu Yifan,” Juneun says, “ _you_ are one of the most incredible men I have ever had the pleasure of knowing. You’re an anomaly in this world, you know. There are so many men — especially in this country, who would decry femininity and emotion as weakness, who seek to be stone and stiff and unmoving because that’s what a man should be. But you? You’re the complete opposite.

“You love, and you love so _deeply_ that it’s… amazing your heart is so large. You’re sensitive and thoughtful and tolerant and respectful and humble, and I love that about you. I’m amazed that no woman has thought to snatch you up, and I’m very glad that I got to be the woman who put that ring on your finger. When I first learned we were getting married, I was terrified. I thought the worst of you, but it turns out that I’m actually the luckiest woman in the world. To us, and a long lifetime together.”

They fall back on the couch as they pretend to sip from their imaginary glasses. Her head rests lightly on his shoulder, and they peer at each other curiously. Her heart pounds, wanting to go farther. She’d said the three words, though she’s not sure if he picked up on them. There’s an indecipherable look in his eyes. They bore deep into hers, pinning her down. Her bravery is sky high, tonight. Juneun hasn’t felt this daring in a long time.

“Maybe…” Yifan was close, so very close. Just the barest tilts of her head upward and his face is right there. Close enough to feel his breath fanning her face. She breathes, not caring for the moment about consequences, “Maybe, we should also fix what happened on our wedding night.”

From her proximity, she notes the brief flicker of recognition that lights up his eyes. There’s hesitation in his stare. Uncertainty that makes him just as immobile as she. There’s only so much Juneun can take, though. After one too many moments of absolute inaction, she drags him in for a kiss. It’s her first in a while — that’s why it’s so sloppy, she tells herself. Yifan groans into her mouth, a desperate noise. Longing and desire exude from every pore, enveloping them both.

God, why did it take them this long?

The slightly pain of their teeth clacking doesn’t fully register as they come together again. Juneun’s entire body seems to erupt into flame. She grasps at Yifan, hands roaming across his chest and back while his find purchase slipping under her untucked shirt and grasping her waist.

“You don’t know what you do to me,” Yifan growls, swiping his tongue across her mouth. “Juneun, you —”

“I need you,” she keens. Juneun tugs on his hair as he nips down her jawline, inhaling sharply into her throat. “Yifan, Yifan, please —”

He takes her off guard as he suddenly sits up, wrapping her arms around his neck and legs around his waist. Hoisting in her up in a display of strength she’d never seen in him before, a near-delirious, giddy giggle escapes her mouth as he carries her into his room and lays her on his bed.

It’s so much to take in — her brain momentarily shorts at the strong kiss he places on her lips. No tongue, not entirely aggression, just… unbridled passion. Uncurbed sensuality. Juneun moans, hands moving to cup his face as their lips move together. “I love you,” she gasps. “I fucking love you, we should’ve — oh _god_ , Yifan —”

He pulls away with a grunt of her name. Flinging his shirt over his head, Yifan mouth latches onto her collarbone. His hands, large as they are, fumble with the buttons of her blouse. Juneun temporarily considers telling him to tear it off, but a brief moment of clarity reminds her that it’s her favorite lilac chiffon shirt and she’ll be damned if it gets ruined by the first sex she’s had in months. She knocks his mitts aside, gasping, “Let me.”

Successfully maneuvering out of the fabric and tossing it somewhere on the floor, she sighs. Yifan’s mouth glides to the valley between her breasts, pressing quick love bites along the flesh peeking above her bra. He takes advantage of her arched back to unclasp it as she yanks the zipper of her skirt down and shrugs it off.

“I don’t match,” Juneun slurs, laughing. “The first dick I’ve gotten —”

“And best —”

“Oh, I’m _sure_ — and I didn’t even have time to impress its owner with my best lingerie.” She can feel his mirth as puff of his breath scatter across her torso, gliding downward with Yifan’s head as he reaches her panties. Her fingers tuck into his coiffe, stroking gently at his scalp.

“Well,” Yifan hums, licking the fabric over her womanhood, already soaked through, “there’s always tomorrow night.” He moves to rest his weight on his elbows. Arms framing her hips, he lowers his head to grasp the top of her underwear with his teeth. The tantalizing, infuriatingly slow pace at which he tugs to remove them makes her thighs quiver as she raises her hips to aid him.

“God, please,” she whimpers, falling flat on the bed as soon as the plain cotton reaches her knees. Yifan uses his hand to discard the fabric. In a similarly smooth movement, Yifan throws her legs over his shoulders. His breath fans her wetness, leaving her shaking in anticipation. “Yifan, _please_ , _just do something_!”

He does. Oh, God, he _does_.

Juneun shrieks as Yifan laves his tongue against the swollen flesh of her clit. The sensitive bud tingles with the repetitive pressure. She might’ve kicked Yifan in the head were it not for his secure grip on her legs.

He groans against her flesh, pressing sloppy kisses against her folds. “Like the sweetest nectar,” he sighs. The probing of his tongue against her entrance makes Juneun cry out, turning to full blown screams as Yifan’s middle finger rubs her clit softly. She thanks every deity she can think of for the fact that they’re the only apartment on the floor and sends a half-hearted mental apology to the poor souls beneath them.

Every bit of contact feels almost brand new in the face of the fact that it’s been ages. Juneun hadn’t realized just how much she missed sex — or, rather, _good_ sex. It’s a struggle to remember the last time she’s had anything that riled her up this much. “Just a little more,” she begs, “please, please, please! Oh, Yifan —”

The exhilarating sensation of his fingers tracing her slit and the teasing pressure of his tongue against her entrance vanishes in a split second.

Were she more cognizant, less caught up in an erotic haze, she might’ve gotten angry. Instead, Juneun is shocked. She lifts herself up by her elbows to stare incredulously at Yifan, who returns her nonverbal query with an audacious smirk. Lucidity starts to filter back in, steady and slightly unwanted. For the first time since she kissed him, Juneun feels a little… exposed. “What do you think you’re doing?” she heaves. “I was so close —”

“I know.” Yifan, just as he does everything else, unbuttons his pants unhurriedly. “I can think of better ways to make you fall apart. And patience yields focus, Juneun.”

“I’ve never been more focused on anything in my life,” she hisses. She drags him downward and nips on his lower lip. The action and subsequent teasing tug makes him groan, kicking off his pants and boxers in one swift action, dropping them to the floor in their fumbling. “Please fuck me.”

She reaches down to grasp the base of his cock, revelling in its warmth and girth. There must’ve been _something_ she did in her past life to deserve this. Her pussy twitches, acutely aware of how he’s going to stretch her open. Juneun tugs gently along the length, tracing her index finger against his slit. Yifan hisses, catching her by the wrist and bringing her hand to his lips.

He leans forward, bracing himself on either side of her head. The gesture is startlingly intimate. Though everything they’ve just done is intimate, both entirely bare to one another, the brief respite in carnality makes her flush with warmth. Red blossoms from her chest and rises to her face. She can just tell by the way he looks at her that he loves her, his eyes soft and tender. She wishes he would look at her like that forever. “Yifan,” she breathes, tangling her fingers in his golden mop of hair. He’s sweated out the gel, strands hanging in his face and exposing dark roots.

Simultaneously, they move together in a chaste kiss, innocent and gentle despite the fact that she can taste her moisture on his tongue. ( _It’s very_ Titanic. _Baekhee would be pleased_ , she thinks). Though passion flares just beneath the surface, this is something more. It’s love. The conjunction of soul and body. Almost all at once, Yifan waxing lyrical about love and sex rushes through her mind. He really does know what he’s talking about.

Juneun wants this. Juneun wants him.

She’s almost reluctant to let go of him as he ends the kiss with a wet pop. Yifan knits their fingers together as the other hand guides his length to her entrance. They lock eyes, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows roughly. Juneun dips her head a few minute degrees. She’s only moved very little, but it’s enough to convey her yearning.

They moan in unison at the first intrusion. Yifan’s big — she had no doubts about that — but her arousal is more than enough to accommodate his size. Yifan eases himself further with the utmost care, pressing feathery kisses to her cheeks with each inch. When he bottoms out, they both stay there, chests heaving.

Juneun’s never felt so full in her life. Never felt so _right_. She’s had sex before, sure, and it’s been great, but there’s just something about the way Yifan’s skin glides against her that has her heart hammering and brain screaming that this is where she should be. Is this what it’s like to find your soulmate? There’s nothing in the world to convince her otherwise.

For all the frenzy with which they began, the act of intercourse itself is far slower, but no less passionate.

The first thrust, shallow and almost experimental, knocks the breath out of her. Juneun’s nails dig crescents into Yifan’s shoulders as he draws light, airy gasps from her with each movement of his hips. His pace never increases, sliding in and out of her heat at a moderate tempo that has pleasure mounting in her core nonetheless. “I love you,” Juneun chants over and over. Each repetition seems to be rewarded with a sharper thrust than the last. Yifan’s hips make wet, messy contact with the flesh of her thighs.

A twist just _so_ has Juneun seeing stars as a cry flies out of her. And so he does it again. And again. And again. And again, and again, and again until she’s getting lightheaded with pleasure, body jostled with each thrust. She could die happy like this. “I’m close, I’m so close, Yifan,” she sobs. He presses his face into the crook of her neck, groaning as she squeezed around him.

“Me, too, baby,” he murmurs. Yifan kisses behind her ear, untangling their sweaty, clammy hands to slide in between them. His fingers rub against her neglected clit in small circles. Even the lightest pressure is enough to send her over the edge.

Juneun comes with a cry, constricting Yifan in her rapture and drawing him to climax right alongside her. Both their orgasms are full-body experiences, Juneun’s thrashing while Yifan goes stiff as he spills himself inside of her. It takes them both forever to come down from their high. For a nearly worrying amount of time, she can’t feel her face or her legs. It’s the best orgasm she’s had in her (admittedly short) life. _God_ , she can’t wait for more.

Yifan rolls over as he recovers, careful not to pull on any of the hair fanned around Juneun’s head. The world seems to spin above her, and it takes a few moments for her entire body to process what had just happened.

As they catch their breath, their hands meet in the middle. Just their index and middle fingers intertwine. Just those two fingers are enough.

…

Juneun and Yifan have a lot of sex.

They fuck almost every night. Sometimes, they can get pretty kinky, too.

They don’t go around announcing the fact, though. Maybe something about her changed after the first night, she doesn’t know. Juneun takes everything Chanyeol does and says with a grain of salt. Yet, even Kyungsoon has commented on her change in mood, so maybe something really did happen.

All she _does_ know is that she’s _very_ content to go home every night and have her husband pound her (or to ride him) into the mattress.

There’s just one minor thing the happily married couple seem to be forgetting.

Protection.

Juneun and Yifan are both clean, but any responsible adult knows that’s not enough reason to forgo condoms or any other form of birth control. Perhaps she’d just been too suckered in by how good Yifan felt to remind him to put the glove on. It isn’t like her at all to ignore something like that — in fact, it’s brand new territory. Miss Foresight conveniently drew a blank when it came to contraception.

Big surprise, she misses her period.

Naturally, in her infinite paranoia, she went to get her blood tested during her lunch break, and now nine hours later, there’s an unread voicemail on her phone. Distantly, she can hear Yifan humming in the shower. She debates whether or not she should wait for him to finish before listening to it. Yifan has a right to know — it’s his baby just as much as it is hers. Juneun’s not sure what she wants the hospital to say, anyway.

One the one hand, she would love to start a family with Yifan. He’s her dream man, _and_ they are, after all, married. Her mother would be overjoyed to hear that she’s with child too, though Juneun would rather make this life-altering decision for herself.

And on the other hand, she’s way too young. She’s still months away from a quarter of a century of life, and there’s still too much for her to think about having a baby. She’d always imagined kids farther down the road, if at all, when her career stabilized and she felt as though she was ready. Juneun supposes that Yifan, who still makes up the bulk of their household income, could offer more than enough support financially in addition to emotional assistance. Yifan would be a good dad. Jueneun? She could only try to be a good mom.

Above all, she just… wasn’t sure if the time was right.

The thought of simply disposing of it before anybody knew anything crosses her mind — no, she couldn’t. It wouldn’t be fair to Yifan.

Then again, maybe this might be just a major fuss over nothing. Maybe she’s not even pregnant, maybe the skipped period is just due to stress, or some other factor that has nothing to do with conception. As far as Juneun was concerned, that was the best case scenario.

Steeling herself, she opened her voicemail and pressed play, then speakerphone.

The brief silence playing at the beginning of the message amps up her anxiety. The voice that finally speaks nearly gives her a heart attack.

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Wu, this is Yixing from Gangnam Severance. We’ve just received your results from today’s bloodwork and I am very happy to inform you that you’re four weeks pregnant —”

Fuck. _Fuck_.

The sound of cloth hitting the floor cuts off whatever mental breakdown she’s about to have. Juneun raises her gaze. Yifan stands in the doorway of their bathroom, eyes wide. The towel he had been using to dry his hair lies crumpled on the carpet. “You’re…” Yifan’s eyes move so rapidly from her face to her stomach that Juneun is afraid he might pull an ocular muscle. “You’re…”

“Um, surprise?”

Yifan surges towards her, scooping her into his arms and spinning her in a circle. His face is split open in one of the widest smiles she’s ever seen on him. “This is amazing,” he crows, peppering her face in kisses. “I’m gonna be a father, I… Gods… Oh, Juneun!”

His kisses, frequent as they are, never fail to make her melt in his arms. She kisses him back, painting a smile onto her face. Well, now Juneun knows just where Yifan stands on this issue. There’s no way she could go through with getting rid of it now, seeing how happy he is. Juneun can’t deprive him of this.

“How are we gonna tell everyone? _Are_ we gonna tell everyone?” Yifan can’t keep the absolute joy off of his face. She can tell he’s seriously considering surprising their friends and family about the baby — and, if statistics are anything to go by, they should probably wait. She’s barely a month along, and miscarriages are common throughout the first trimester. There’s a 20% chance she’ll lose the baby, and 80% chance of that 20% states that her miscarriage will be in the first three months of gestation. Her thoughts must be clear on her face, because concern crosses Yifan’s visage and he frowns. “What’s wrong, honey?”

“Nothing, just…” Juneun schools her expression into a reassuring one. “I’m a little nervous, that’s all. This is a big deal. Our lives are gonna change forever.”

He doesn’t look entirely convinced. “You know you can tell me anything, right? I love you.”

Juneun kisses him. “I love you too. We should tell my sisters first. I’m sure they’d love to organize everything, from the pregnancy reveal, the gender reveal, to the baby shower.” She chuckles. “There’ll be a party for everything.”

An indecipherable look passes over Yifan and then vanishes as quickly as it came. A bright, encouraging smile replaces it. The quick switch gives Juneun pause, an unease painting his following words. “Sure. I’m sure it’ll be lovely.”

…

The entire café looks up, startled by the one-person commotion that is Juneun’s younger sister.

“Oh, Jun-unnie!” Baekhee trills, catching her face in between cold, clammy hands. “It feels like it’s been _ages_ since I’ve seen you!”

Normally, Jonghae would participate in such antics. Instead, she rolls her eyes good-naturedly. “It’s only been two months — although that _is_ a relatively long time for us not to have seen each other. The only time we were ever this distant was when you first moved out.”

Juneun shrugs. “I guess I’ve just been… busy.”

“I’ll bet!” The chirp earns Baekhee a sharp elbow to the side.

She’s not… actually wrong. Juneun’s sex life hasn’t suffered as a result of her pregnancy — in fact, it might’ve even improved due to the influx of hormones. Her job was keeping her plenty busy, to. _How Are You Bread_ ’s popularity only kept climbing, to her utmost pride, but she knew that that meant she and Minseok weren’t enough anymore. If they were going to go nationwide like they’d dreamed, they were going to need other administrative and executive help. Just finding the right people was the problem. They couldn’t just take on _anybody_. She’s sure the details would bore the living daylights out of her sisters, though, so she doesn’t mention it.

“There’s just so much to do lately,” she says in lieu of specificity. “We’re getting bigger and that’s great, but… Well, there’s also the reason why I invited you guys out for lunch today.”

Jonghae tuts. “I knew there were ulterior motives. Are you okay? Is anything wrong?”

Juneun blinks. The immediate assumption of negativity is a tad surprising. She’s never invited her sisters out to complain. In fact, it’s usually the other way around — _they_ vent to _her_. “Um, nothing? It’s not bad news, it’s quite the opposite.” She sees Baekhee’s face light up right away, while Jonghae doesn’t seem all too convinced that there’s nothing wrong. Juneun’s had seventy-two hours to come to terms with the fact that she’s going to be a mother, though, so it couldn’t possibly be sensing her doubts that’s causing Jonghae’s unease.

The elder of her younger sisters bounces around in her chair. Juneun knows for certain that she knows. “Say it,” Baekhee whispers, reaching for Juneun’s hands. “Ohhh, I’m so happy, but I wanna hear you say it for yourself.”

The younger’s excitement thankfully creates a calming aura. Juneun feels a lot better about the announcement, even if Jonghae still looks as though she expects something terrible to come out of her mouth. “I was _about_ to,” Juneun teases, laying her hands over Baekhee’s. She doesn’t miss the way Jonghae zeroes in on her wedding ring. “But then you interrupted me.”

She takes a deep breath. “I’m pregnant.”

Baekhee shrieks in triumph, drawing the slightly terrified attention of a few passers-by. “I knew it! I _knew_ it, the moment you ordered water instead of coffee! Oh my God, I’m so happy for you! Congratulations!” She lunges haphazardly across the table to hug her sister.

“So it’s his? Yifan’s?” In a complete contrast with her twin, Jonghae’s tone sounds anything but congratulatory. She errs more on the side of wary, perhaps disappointed, if Juneun wanted to go a bit farther.

“Jonghae,” Baekhee chastises, “of course the baby’s Yifan’s. Why would you say something like that?”  
  


“I was just making sure.”

Juneun frowns. This isn’t like her at all. Jonghae and Baekhee were two of a kind, bouncing off each other’s loud (and sometimes grating) behavior like a pair of puppies. The Jonghae before her, however, is devoid of all mirth. She’s solemn, restrained, and while Juneun has known her baby sister to get serious when the occasion called for it, she has no idea why she’s behaving this way at a time like this. At least, she had no idea until Jonghae had said her husband’s name. Disdain laced the bisyllabic cognomen along with mistrust and heavy doses of suspicion. For the life of her, Juneun can’t figure out what might’ve inspired the attitude. “I’m sorry, do you… have a problem with my husband? I won’t get mad if you say yes, I just wanted to know. You don’t sound very fond of him.”

Jonghae’s mouth twists in discomfort. The normally kittenish pout of her lips is marred with conflict. “Well… Do you actually know anything about the guy? About his family?”

At once, Juneun thinks of Bing-bing. She suppresses a shiver. “I met his mother once. She’s… a powerful woman.”

“And did you meet his dad?” Jonghae presses.

“No,” Juneun responds. Her brows furrow, hands subconsciously gripping Baekhee’s tight. “I… what are you implying?”

Jonghae sighs and runs a hand through her hair. Baekhee looks uncertainly between them. “I know most people think gossip rags are a bunch of bullshit,” she says, “but that’s because we write it that way on purpose. Celebrities pay us off if our intel is too unsavory or career-ending. Otherwise, we’re given a little sum to make our juicy stories look as disingenuous and sleazy and as implausible as possible. It helps clear them of suspicion just because others want to be contradictory, especially towards so-called unreputable sources. In essence, we _are_ reporting the truth, just with a satirical twist.”

“I don’t see what any of this has to do with Yifan,” Baekhee interjects.

“I was getting there.” Jonghae shoots her twin a dark look. She looks back at Juneun, sympathy clouding her face. “We… got a tip about Yifan. Anonymous, but when I put my feelers out, I learned it was true. His father’s an arms dealer. One of America’s favorites. He operates mostly in the Middle East.”

Juneun wants to be surprised that Bing-bing had a child with such a man, but she isn’t. She hasn’t any recollection of Yifan mentioning his father; she simply assumed they were estranged. “Yifan doesn’t talk about his dad. I don’t think they’re in contact anymore —”

“Then why was he at your house last week?”

She freezes, brain screeching to a halt. “What?”

“The reason…” Jonghae releases an almost incredulous laugh. “The reason I found out was because after I trailed him from his apartment in Seoul, I found him entering your front door. Your husband let him in, and they seemed… pretty chummy with one another. Familial hugs and everything.”

That… Yifan hadn’t said a word about that. He never once mentioned his father, though he spoke openly about his family. More than once, Juneun jokingly nursed the idea that Yifan was a product of a virgin birth. Surely, he would’ve mentioned to her that his father was a dangerous man. He knew everything about _her_. From that time her parents accidentally left her behind on a road trip to that other time she’d accidently knocked over the display case just a few days ago. They shared — that’s what they did. There were no secrets between them; their marriage thrived off of that.

Except, there were two very big secrets currently staring at her right now.

One, Yifan’s father is an outlaw and bad news.

Two, Yifan was associated with his father, an outlaw and bad news.

God, what if the reason Yifan had a 100% success rate was…? Juneun shakes her head. She doesn’t want to think about it.

“Unnie,” Jonghae murmurs. “Say something.”

Baekhee shares her twin’s look of concern, taking one of Juneun’s hands as Jonghae takes the other. Clearly, she was unaware of the dark turn their conversation was going to take. Long gone was the joy she’d had over finding out she was going to be an aunt. She and Jonghae really did mirror each other’s mood. “Are you okay? God, if I knew she was going to say something like this, I never would’ve brought her.”

Juneun quickly shakes her head. “No,” she says. She squeezes her sisters back. “I needed to know. Thank you, Jonghae. I’ll… I’ll talk to him about this.”

“Be careful,” Jonghae insists.

“I will,” Juneun assures her, even though she’s not even really sure herself.

…

That evening, her questions are deftly avoided, and so Juneun turns Yifan down. He spent the drive home nibbling at her earlobe and then pressed soft kisses down her jawline as they hovered in front of the master bedroom door, all the while dodging each and every one of her inquiries with practiced ease. When he turned her around to kiss her lips, she turned her head so that his lips met her cheek instead. He sensed immediately that something was wrong and pulled back. He asked her if she was okay, clearly doubtful when Juneun told him that she was, and then became confused when she asked to sleep in separate rooms.

Neither of them were very fussy when they slept. Often times, she would wake up and see Yifan in the same position he was in when she fell asleep. Facing her, wide awake, smiling softly as he waited for her to wake up. She conjured up the excuse that his nightly embraces made her feel as though he might crush the baby. Juneun waved off his protests that he can adjust his posture and the suggestion that they build a pillow wall between them. “You don’t have to sleep somewhere else,” Yifan pleaded.

She smiled blandly at him, said that she wanted a change of scenery, and then closed the door in his face. In retrospect, it was a little rude, but it was enough to make him back off.

Juneun found her old room cozy enough, given that she was only living in there for several weeks. It looked half furnished and half empty. The bed was cold and unmade, very few of her things scattered about. There were still some clothes in the closet, unable to fit in the allotted half of Yifan’s own when she moved into his room. For the past seven days, it’s become her own little microcosmic retreat.

Juneun tried, over the week, to address her concerns in as mild a manner as possible. It wasn’t as if Yifan resented her for denying him sex, was it? That whole big spiel he’d made when they first got married about consent — was it all fake? Just flattery that was discarded the moment she did consent to let him fuck her? That didn’t sound at all like the man she married, but then again, she didn’t think she married the son of an arms dealer, either.

Any time she even slightly hinted at his paternal heritage, Yifan would quickly change the subject. She never, ever fell for it once, not even when he tried to distract her with feverish, sudden kisses along the column of her throat. Juneun’s Lysistratic protests affected her just as much as Yifan. She missed the sex, missed feeling him against and inside of her. But she needed answers first. They needed to reestablish trust.

It seemed, unfortunately for the both of them, that Yifan was doing everything in his power to prevent that from happening. Now, more than ever, Juneun feels that Yifan has something to hide.

On the eighth night of separation, Juneun resolves to figure out just what it is. She thinks it might have something to do with his nightly routine. Every night they’ve lain together, she can’t ever remember seeing him fall asleep before her, nor can she recall waking up before him. Yifan had always been the bookends of her day. He would greet her with morning-breathed pecks on the tip of her nose and bring her to rest with a tender, light brushing of their lips. There was _something_ Yifan was doing while she was asleep. The possibilities she conjures up while her mind is left to wander terrify her, but she knows she has to get answers. Luckily for her, since taking up her new roost, there’s been no post-coital nap to be had. She’s no longer tuckered out.

(If that was his plan all along, to fuck her to sleep so that he could deal with the shadier side of his life, it was certainly an innovative one.)

She waits until it’s a quarter to midnight before making her move. Having found an old golf club in her closet — one that very much did not belong to her — to defend herself with, she was ready. Her heart told her that Yifan would never attack her. (Clearly, though, Juneun was actually very unaware of what her husband is truly capable of.) The club was just a precaution. Her other hand clutches at her phone, serving as her flashlight. The less things she has to carry, the better.

Knowing that she’s going to chicken out if she waits any longer, she steps quietly outside of her room. Juneun doesn’t close the door; it would waste valuable time if she’s trying to barricade herself behind it by having to open it first. Yifan’s door is closed and no light filters through the cracks. Thanking God that the hallway is carpeted, she creeps hesitantly towards the master bedroom. Her hand slowly grasps the doorknob, and she turns it at a snail’s pace. Each click makes her heart hammer even harder, but it almost stops entirely as the door completely opens with a crack.

The room is pitch black. Windows shuttered, lights off, Juneun is forced to resort to her phone light in the hopes that it won’t be too bright. She hears quiet snoring — Yifan, most likely. It strikes her how it’s the first time she’s heard him make the noise. In two months of marriage, she’s only ever seen him awake.

All right. So she’s in the room, apparently undetected. Now what?

Juneun hadn’t thought that far. Her presumption that Yifan maintained his less-than-legal enterprises as she slept was an incorrect one — at least for this night. The rational part of her supplies that he probably just falls asleep later than her because he goes over his itinerary for the next day. The irrational part insists that she snoop around, because Yifan _has_ been hiding things from her — she just doesn’t know to what extent. Maybe it’s just the hormones. They’re why she’s choosing the latter. Not to mention, of course, the ever-present fear that she was bringing a child into a world where danger may loom around every corner, and all because of their father and/or grandfather.

Without her things (and her messy disposition) to clutter the space, Yifan’s room has returned to its original cleanliness. His basic furniture is devoid of wear, and his clothes are neatly piled into a laundry basket. Juneun turns to examine his desk first. For all the time spent in his room — mostly spent doing other things that left them _spent_ — she’s never bothered to look through it. Not altogether too surprising, given that rifling through it was a massive invasion of privacy. As she creeps towards it, Juneun is briefly reminded of the times she’d snuck peeks at her sisters’ diaries when they were younger.

The sleek, black table bears only three things — a lamp, Yifan’s charging laptop, and a folder. It takes a bit of maneuvering to prop her phone up so that she’s able to flip through the pages while still holding the golf club in her other hand. As far as she can tell, they’re just profiles of potential matches. Listing names, birth dates, zodiac signs, hobbies, and other innocuous details, there’s nothing incriminating on the documents. The dim-screened laptop is password protected, so Juneun gives up on that venture quickly.

Just as she closes it gently, a loud thump from behind her scares her half to death. The quiet breathing is still evened out, but she has to turn and check to see if Yifan’s still sleeping anyway. She barely comes to a crouch beside him before a gasp leaves her mouth and her right hand forgets it’s holding something.

A pair of white dove wings, proportional to his size, stretch out from Yifan’s back, beautiful but also obviously inuman.

The golf club falls on them.

Predictably, Yifan wakes up.

He cries out and bolts upward, as if roused from a nightmare. His wings flare, nearly striking Juneun were it not for her quick jump backward and into the desk as he rose. Her probably-bruised hip is but a faint tingle in the face of what’s before her. Yifan looks around wildly. Something akin to betrayal seeps into his gaze as his eyes fall onto her face. “Juneun?” he says, on the verge of disbelief. “Did you … _hit me_?”

The pure shock of it all makes it difficult for her to find her voice. The silence seems to pain Yifan even more. “I didn’t mean to,” Juneun finally manages. “I didn’t — I thought you were — you have _wings_!”

It all starts to fall into place. Bing-bing’s incomparable beauty, his father’s wardogging, Yifan’s adroitness at brokering love and his 100% success rate. Even his stationery made the answer pointedly obvious. He wasn’t human. He was a _god_. Despite the sheer impossibility of the situation, she knew it was the only explanation. Her brows raise towards her hairline. “You’re —”

“Eros,” Yifan says. Her heart clenches at the sheer defeat in his voice. He sounds as if he expected this betrayal, just waiting for the other shoe to drop. She’s not sure what’s worse, that he expected her deception or that she knows he’s just hurt him very deeply. “What were you even doing in here? With a golf club?”

It looks bad, she realizes that. “I’m sorry.” Juneun says. She eyes the appendages on Yifan’s back. It still doesn’t seem real. She has no idea how he hid them from her. “I… when I went to see my sisters, to tell them about the baby, they… They told me about your father. About what he does for a living — for fun? — and I… I got scared.”

Yifan’s brows furrow. She sees the comprehension dawning on his face and tries to comfort him. He swats her hand away. “You… you thought I would hurt you? That I’d hurt our child?”

“No! I was afraid that whatever your father was dealing with would hurt us. You don’t tell me _anything_ about who you were before we got married. I have to find things out myself, and to learn that your dad’s a weapons dealer…” She reaches for him, taking his face between her hands. “But that’s okay, now. Because I know the truth, and I know that you would never hurt us, that you would never hurt me.”

Yifan’s eyes are wet as he gazes up at her. “Did you not think just to trust me? Was that too much to ask of you?”

“No,” Juneun whispers. She kisses him, but his lips remain unmoving under hers. “No, no, no, no, no, no, I… I trust you, Yifan. I love you.”

He removes her hands gently, striding toward the door. He doesn’t even bother to put any clothes on. She follows him to the living room, babbling mindlessly about how sorry she is and how she still loves him. She’ll say anything to fix this. They’ve never had a fight before. It’s brand new territory, and Juneun doesn’t know how to fix things.

Approaching the windows, he opens one and stands on the sill. Juneun’s eyes widen, the flare of his wings stopping her in her tracks. “What are you doing?” she whimpers. She thinks she knows the answer. She hopes that her frightened tone might stall him. “Where are you going?”

“Away.” He doesn’t look at her. She wants him to, needs Yifan to look at her. She needs to be reassured by the love in his eyes. He doesn’t look at her. “I can’t be here with you. With someone who doesn’t trust me, who believed that I might bring harm to her, the woman that I love, and our unborn child.”

This can’t be happening. She can’t lose him. She refuses to let it happen. Part of her wants to grab onto the pant leg of his pajamas, but Juneun’s frozen. The notion of Yifan being gone, of being all alone and without him is one of the most frightening things she’s thought about in a long time. Panic closes in around her chest, making her breath come out in quick pants as she struggles to take in air.

“Please,” Juneun begs. “I’m sorry. I know I was wrong. I’m _so_ sorry. I’ll do anything to make it up to you, Yifan. I _do_ trust you. I love you. I _love you_.”

“If you loved me, the thought never would’ve crossed your mind.” And, without giving Juneun the chance to say another word, Yifan steps off the window sill, spreads his wings (one noticeably bruised) and flies off into the night sky.

Juneun falls to her knees and sobs.

…

It’s expected for questions to be raised when such an absolute workaholic like Juneun holes herself up in her apartment and refuses to speak to anyone. The only reason she has bothered to eat and drink in the days since Yifan’s departure is the life growing within her womb.

She never once thought she would get so bent out of shape because of a single man. ( _No_ , _a god_ , she corrects herself. _The god of falling in love_ , _no less_.) The profound impact of Yifan on her life had been unprecedented. None of her other lovers had ever touched Juneun so deeply, had made her fall so hard and so fast. With Yifan gone, however, it felt as though the light had left her life. The place was his, so it was obvious that everything would remind her of him. His neglected favorite mug in the cabinet, the stack of newspapers collecting by their front door. The bottles of cologne lined up on his dresser, which Juneun would occasionally puff even despite her oversensitive nose just for the chance to smell him again.

Sometimes, she thinks she hears him. She thinks she hears him padding barefoot around the apartment, humming under his breath. Or his quiet chuckle at a drama she stopped paying attention to two seconds in. It’s so easy for her to pretend as though he's still there. At first, Juneun did, speaking to the empty penthouse and pleading for Yifan to come back. It didn't take very long for the reality to set in that he wasn’t listening, god or not, and that she was all alone. Just her and her baby, growing restless by the day.

November reaches its midpoint when someone finally pays an actual visit. The phone calls, texts, e-mails, and voicemails were easy enough to ignore. After a while, they stopped. Thereafter came a few attempts at rousing her. Chanyeol and Minseok both came to visit one day, but she hadn’t opened the door. Her ruined marriage had nothing to do with them; she couldn’t explain what had happened, and they would’ve have believed her anyway. She received a visit from the police once. They were quick to believe that she was fine, just manically depressed. The most they were allowed was a recommendation to seek psychiatric help, but they eventually left, too. Like everyone else.

Like Yifan.

Her sisters also believed it was a good idea to come and see her not long after. In the beginning, Juneun was outraged. How dare they — Jonghae especially — come to speak to her when all they had done was ruin her life? She was better off having never seen them again after the wedding. The ache of missing her family was surely more bearable than the absolute agony of losing Yifan.

Juneun never did end up letting them in, as was her right. She eventually came to her senses after they were gone. (Again, like she had with Yifan). Jonghae couldn’t have known. She saw what she saw and only meant to protect her sister. Jonghae was no oracle. She wouldn’t purposefully ruin Juneun’s marriage for no reason. And Yifan was right. While Jonghae had told her of Yifan’s father, having suspicions of her own, it was Juneun who allowed herself to be swayed by them. Juneun chose to latch onto fear and paranoia instead of trusting in the goodness and kindness of her husband.

Yifan was right about everything, and that made the heartache even worse.

Kyungsoon is the only one who makes it through the door, but not by choice.

On the thirteenth, a week after Yifan’s would-be birthday, Juneun reluctantly leaves her nest of suffering to get a glass of water and comes across Do Kyungsoon sitting primly on her couch. She holds a cup of tea between her index finger and thumb, pinky raised, the definition of posie. Though she clearly hears Juneun’s cacophonous entrance, Kyungsoon doesn’t turn to acknowledge her.

“W-what — How did you get in here?” the woman splutters. It isn’t as though she forgot to lock the front door, seeing as she never opened it in the first place unless it was a Tuesday and she was getting her groceries delivered.

It’s Monday.

A thought crosses her head, though, as Kyungsoon takes a sip of her tea. She finds it hard to believe, considering Kyungsoon has been a long-time employee, but she also hadn’t expected the love of her life as being anything other than human. “Are you… are you… one of _them_?”

At that, Kyungsoon snorts. “A god? Thunderer Almighty, no. I’m glad not to be, either, finicky and petty as they are. To be despised by one… I can’t imagine how it feels. But alas, they fear me too much.”

Juneun’s blood runs cold. Yifan despises her. Of course he does. She shouldn’t have expected any less.

“I’m not a god,” Kyungsoon continues, “but I am, in a way, as beholden to them as they are to me. I am an oracle, under the dominion of Apollo. But he does not control me — fate does. My words inspire hope and despair in equal measure. I dispense knowledge.”

It’s the most Juneun has heard the petite girl speak at once. “And you couldn't have told me about my future? To spare me of… all this?” She throws her arms in the air, too tired to be properly angry. It’s something she feels a lot nowadays; she wants to be mad but is too drained to evoke any emotion other than sorrow and exhaustion.

“I did,” Kyungsoon counters, “to your mother, one of my most loyal visitors. I am not one of those she owes, for I speak fate’s words without need of recompense. She comes to me seeking confirmation, especially when matters pertain to you. I can never be as specific as people would like, for fear of changing the course of fate. So I could not have helped you either way.”

“Then why are you here? What do you want?”

Kyungsoon frowns, brows drawing together. “You are my friend,” she says. “I care for you. And I know that your story does not end here, in tragedy. There is more for you, yet.” She stands, walking over to Juneun and putting a hand on her shoulder. “I’m here to help. Go to the place where faces are sold, and speak to the one who hates you. Your true love might return to you still.”

“What? That doesn’t make any sense —”

“That’s all I can say, but I wish I could tell you more. I wish you luck, Juneun-unnie.” Kyungsoon squeezes her shoulder. Then, setting her cup in the sink, she walks to the door and leaves, just as suddenly as she came.

…

  
  


Juneun thanks the gods that she has a background in riddles. A failed stint as a magician as a young child showed her mental aptitude at flowery language as well as a head for business that would help her in her later life.

(Perhaps it would be more accurate to say that she should thank the voice in her head that didn’t really quite sound like her, whispering the answer.)

The MAC store Bing-bing runs in Apgujeong-do is just as sleek and “rich only”-looking as Juneun imagined. The workers, as friendly as their smiles may seem, operate under a veneer of thinly-veiled condescension and judgment. Their customers are likely to be just as vain and superficial. At two months, Juneun isn’t obviously pregnant, though she’s gained some weight from her baby as well as her reclusive post-Yifan lifestyle. The look a sales attendant named Chanmi gives her says volumes.

“Um, I’m not… a customer,” she says meekly. “I’m Bing-bing-gapo’s daughter-in-law? I was wondering if Yifan stopped by today.”

Chanmi studies her nails, clicking her tongue. “I didn’t see him but jie’s in today. If you’d lie, I can go get her for you.”

Juneun hesitates. Bing-bing — Aphrodite — has every reason to hate her. Juneun was still a ‘plain’ girl, made ‘plainer’ still by her pregnancy. To go even further than that, she broke Yifan’s heart. She doubts those are forgivable offenses, especially when taking into account the fact that she already loathed Juneun. Just then, though, Kyungsoon’s words echo in her mind — ‘speak to the one who hates you.’ Maybe she wasn’t supposed to meet Yifan here after all.

(And maybe, just maybe, Yifan didn’t hate her, either.)

“Ah, yes,” Juneun blurts, just as it looks like Chanmi’s starting to get disinterested in her. “I’d like that. Thank you.”

“Mm-hm, no problem, hon,” Chanmi says. The false smile doesn’t mask her ambivalent tone. She mutters something into a microphone attached to her earpiece, tells Juneun to stay put with a light tap on her elbow, and retreats into the back of the store.

Within minutes, Juneun can sense Bing-bing’s approach. The cold beauty’s iciness, indicative of her name, as well as the click-clack of six-inch stilettos seem to follow her everywhere. As the older woman comes into view, Juneun notes that the heels make her tower over Juneun, who must look even more basic than she usually does, considering she prioritized comfort over appearance.

“Well,” says Bing-bing, sounding supremely smug. “Here you are. Walk with me.” She turns abruptly on her heel and starts marching back to where she came from. Jun scrambles to follow her. She nearly slips on the waxed floor but catches herself in time. “I have a feeling why you’re here. But I want to hear it from your mouth — meaning, I want you to beg.”

Juneun doesn’t even hesitate, not even when they cross from the store proper into the employee-only back. “Please, tell me where he is. I made a mistake, I can admit that. But I love him more than I’ve ever loved anyone in the world. I need him. Our baby needs him. I know I wronged him, but I can make amends. There is nothing I desire more in this life than to have him by my side.”

Bing-bing arches a brow as she sharply turns past a corner. “And what makes you think I know where he is?”

“Who else would?” Juneun challenges. “Yifan is many things, a mama’s boy included. After abandoning our home, he’d have nowhere else to go, so he went to you — either to beg shelter or for help in finding a temporary one.”

“Astute,” the goddess of love scoffs, “ but mere cleverness will never be enough to sway me into helping you. What would make me think you won’t do this again? Humans are indecisive, fickle, shameless, and most of all _distrustful_. I sincerely doubt that someone like you would simply submit so quickly to your husband.”

“Maybe not submit, but I would trust him with my life.” The look on Bing-bing’s face says that this clearly wasn’t the right thing to say. “I know my lack of faith in Yifan is what destroyed us. It’s a mistake I intend to never make again. Please, please, I’ll do anything for him. Whatever you want — I swear on my life — if you’ll help me get him back.”

Bing-bing comes to an abrupt stop, leading Juneun into almost careening iher. “I had a feeling you would say that. I’ll make you a deal. Complete some favors for me, and I swear on the River Styx that I will talk to him. About you, if you’re worried I won’t.”

Juneun would be a fool not to take the deal. “I accept,” she blurts. Her speed seems to surprise Bing-bing, who recovers quickly with a knowing smile.

“I knew you were a clever girl,” the goddess says. “Luckily for you, you get to stare right now.”

She gestures to the space around her. They’re standing warehouse-like area in the maze of the store’s back rooms, where shelves are knocked over and cardboard boxes are absolutely demolished. Lipsticks, highlighters, bottles of foundation, and other products lay in disorganized heaps on the floor. It’s as if a tornado blew through the room but left the makeup and its containers intact. “Seeing how much of a slob you are, I suppose cleaning is one of two things — a second nature, hobby-like activity or a skill you’re going to need to learn if you _ever_ want to see my son again. So that’s exactly what you’re going to do. Clean. Put those shelves back up and arrange our inventory by the time we close in, oh, two hours, and I’ll consider appealing to Yifan on your behalf.”

“ _Two hours_?” She must’ve heard wrong. “There have to be… thousands of products here. How am I supposed to put everything back together in two hours?” Just looking at the mess was enough to make Juneun feel like fainting.

Bing-bing shrugs. “Then maybe you shouldn’t have stopped by so late into the evening, eh? You’d better get started, Juneun.” She doesn’t even bother to hide her laughter as she walks away.

Juneun kneels before the clutter, defeat already making itself comfortable on her shoulders. She’s just one person, and a small one at that. While they were together, Yifan often teased her about her height, putting things out of her reach so that she would kiss him as payment for his vertical services. Except Yifan isn’t here now, and Juneun has no idea what to do. Her eyes water before she can stop them.

She never asked for this, never asked to fall in love with the most unattainable man in the world. All she wanted to do was run a bakery, and yet fate had decided to twist her life into an unrecognizable wreck she has no way out of. She’s not even sure if Bing-bing will hold true to her word once Juneun finishes, Stygian promise or not — although, seeing as it’s an impossible task, she probably won’t have to care, anyway.

“No,” she muttered to herself. “You don’t get to think like this. You don’t ever think like this. You fight. You do whatever it takes to succeed, no matter who’s in your way. It’s… it’s one of the things he loved about you.”

That alone gives her enough strength to stand. Toeing away the makeup around it, she tugs on one of the fallen racks to hoist it up. It’s lighter than she expects, and propping it against the wall is a victory in it of itself. A confidence booster. “I can do this.”

She turns to grab the others, but jumps and stifles a shriek when she sees all the ants crawling on the floor. Several hundreds of them , she notes after getting over the initial shock, have arranged themselves into words.

 _Help you_.

  
Juneun crouches down in front of them. She's not entirely sure she’s awake right now. “You’re here to help me?” Magic ants — who knew? She pinches herself, noting with mixed feelings that it hurts.

Quickly, they rearrange themselves. _Yes_.

“I don’t suppose you’re all literate and capable of seeing color, are you?”

_We try 2 b. ;)_

Ants that can tease. She’s either hallucinating, or there’s someone looking out for her. The thought that someone (even if it wasn’t _him_ ) having her back warms her heart. “All right, thank you. Let’s get to work, yeah? You little guys sort out the makeup while I arrange them on the shelves.”

Working together, they make good progress. Though Juneun regrets the five minutes she wasted moping, the sheer volume of ants make up the bulk of the challenge’s difficulty. With the cooperation one comes to expect from their species, the ants quickly categorize the makeup by type, line, and color. Though Juneun, in her infinite clumsiness, knocks over some of their finished work while trying to put away some of the others, they have no problem in quickly setting it back up. The ants aren’t infallible; some shades need to be switched and some bottles look similar, leading to the mix up of product lines. Still, they’re a greater help than they are a hindrance.

By the time the second hand hits 58 at 8:59, though, Juneun has run through her final checks on the inventory. The ants departed once everything was shelved to mask their duplicity, and everything seems to be in order. It’s an overall triumph, which makes Bing-bing’s smug face turning into an expression of rage upon her return all the sweeter. The older woman’s rage doesn’t diminish her beauty in anyway, but the sheer venom in her voice has Juneun’s skin crawling even as the thrum of satisfaction flows in her veins.

“So,” Bing-bing hisses. “Looks like you did a good job.” She steps up to the racks, inspecting each one with razor sharp attention. When she can’t seem to find a fault in Juneun’s work, she turns to sneer at her. “I’m impressed. Here, for your hard work.”

She tosses a crumpled bag of Subway on the floor. Juneun finds that it contains a squished, cold tuna sandwich, and then quickly realizes she hasn’t eaten since noon. Had she cared much of her mother-in-law’s opinion, she would’ve felt embarrassed at the growl her stomach released. “Thank you,” she says, fully aware of the suspicious glare Bing-bing tries to pierce her with. After a few bites to show the depths of her gratitude, she dares to raise her gaze. “So… Does that mean you’ll help me get to Yifan?”

The smile that stretches across the other’s face in all her unmatchable beauty, is enough to make someone drop dead out of sheer terror. “I said that if you did as I asked, I would consider helping you. You’re going to have to work a lot harder for me to actually _do_ anything, my dear.” Bing-bing laughs at Juneun’s crestfallen expression. “Chin up, darling. I’m going to need you to be ready at dawn tomorrow, which means you should be scurrying along to bed right about now.”

Though she chafes at the patronizing tone, Juneun goes and does just that.

…

  
  


She supposes she can’t be too surprised that Bing-bing’s arbitrary call time is exactly that — arbitrary. The official starting time for her next task is at nine, but Juneun is grateful for the extra hours of wakefulness.

It is to her supreme luck that she also doesn’t have to go very far. The penthouse is incredibly close to the Michael Kors location in comparison to the MAC store. Juneun didn’t even need to hail a cab. She knows how to count her blessings. For every convenience that Bing-bing afforded her, she was always going to make sure there was an obstacle she had to overcome.

“The Queen’s being a bitch,” Bing-bing says in lieu of a greeting when Juneun approaches her just outside of the store. She looks almost comically suspicious, clad in all black, a wide-brimmed hat, and large sunglasses. She looks as though she stepped out of the 60s, a bold look that Juneun would admire if it were on anybody else. “She’s got all those pretty dresses lined up there, and yet she won’t let me try a single one. How rude, right? But that’s why I have you, little pet.”

Juneun hates the expression on her face. “What?”

“You’re going to commit some grand larceny, sweetheart. Just three of those dresses are worth more than your pathetic little life, and three dresses are exactly what you’re going to to get for me.”

Juneun splutters. “I can’t — I can’t afford three Michael Kors dresses! How —”

“Darling, of _course_ I know that. That’s why I said _larceny_. You’re going to shoplift for me.” She slaps a post-it onto Juneun’s shoulder — her size, if the numbers are any indication. “Oh, and don’t forget to get rid of… all the security stuff. I’ll see you back at my store, love. Well — don’t bother coming if you don’t have the loot. Break a leg.” For a woman so strikingly beautiful, she disappears into a crowd very quickly.

Juneun hasn’t felt this nervous since she discovered Yifan’s identity. The familiar shadow of doubt looms over her. Just stepping into the store, she feels horribly out of place. While her parents made a decent wage, enough to keep her and her sisters satisfied, the store was crawling with chaebol. The brand isn’t as expensive as, say, Gucci or Burberry, but it was still above her means. Bing-bing wasn’t wrong when she commented that the products cost more than Juneun’s existence.

She stuck out like a sore thumb. Everyone else was swathed in designer clothes, adorned with jewelry and watches the likes of which Juneun had only seen in magazines. There was no way someone so obviously middle-class could afford anything on their shelves. She’s even afraid to touch the clothes, for fear of sullying the store’s wares. She also isn’t certain if it’s her paranoia, or if the sales assistants really are following her every movement.

To put it frankly, it’s hopeless. There aren’t going to be any magic ants to be pulling her out of the situation, and Juneun almost wants to start crying in the middle of the store.

“I’m… not quite an ant, but iI promise I’ll be just as helpful.” The voice sounds as though it’s in whisper distance, but Juneun doesn’t see anyone that close when she whirls around. There she goes, hearing voices again. “I’m at your six.”

She turns around, spotting a young lady browsing one of the purses with delicate, lithe fingers. When Juneun looks at her, the girl meets her eyes directly and offers a tiny smile. Her mouth doesn’t open, but Juneun knows it’s her voice in her head. “Thank you for not freaking out so openly. I can’t tell you who sent me, but just know that I’m here to help.” Her eyes crinkle at the corners. “If I were you, I’d pick the ugliest dresses in the selection.”

Oh, this makes sense. A human being is far more helpful than ants in this situation. Whoever it was who sent the ants her way seems to have all sorts of friends up their sleeves. Juneun nods in thanks and ducks to the back of the store, where a rack of clothes from last year’s collections sit despondently.

The girl laughs. “Good choice. Those three on the end are pretty gnarly, if you ask me.”

Juneun plucks an off-the-shoulder dress, grimacing at the layers. Though the color’s nice, she can’t imagine anyone wearing it unironically. The sequined dress next to it only looks marginally better, but that’s because it has a decent enough cut. Then again, it _is_ sequined.

“Ooh! Get the leopard print one!”

It’s absolutely hideous. White and blue and spotted, the knitted fabric only serves to add to its ridiculousness. Bing-bing has the kind of beauty that makes anything look good — rather like Rihanna — so Juneun feels little guilt for picking out the worst pieces she can find. All she was instructed to do was to steal three dresses. It wasn’t as though Bing-bing could make it so she had to do it again — or so she hoped.

“There’s a security cam blind spot if you stand in front of the rack at an angle. It’ll look like you’re browsing, but use that opportunity to rip off the price tags.”

Juneun does as she says, adjusting her stance by minute degrees with just a bit more aid. She doesn’t hazard a glance at the camera on the ceiling, knowing it would just make her lose her nerve as well as make her look suspicious. The tags come off quickly, and she stuffs them into the pockets of a jacket on the rack.

“All right, now just go. Walk out.” The instructions cause more than a little confusion on Juneun’s half. Surely, she has to be more inconspicuous. She couldn’t possibly just walk out with hundreds of dollars of clothing. “Don’t worry about it. I’ve got you covered.”

The girl’s advice hasn’t gotten her caught yet, so she goes through with it. With as purposeful a gait as she can muster, Juneun approaches the exit of the store. Once she passes her, the girl falls into line by her side, and they are so, very close to crossing the threshold when a voice calls out, “Excuse me, what do you think you’re doing, young lady?”

Juneun fully believes that her heart’s stopped. This is it — she’s dead meat, they’re going to put her behind bars and she’s going to give birth in prison, she’ll never get to see Yifan again —

“Oh, mother!” The girl’s voice sounds a little different, but that’s probably because she’s actually speaking aloud. “Have you met my new assistant? I just got her these dresses as a welcome-to-the-job present!”

Juneun turns, hoping her speed in doing so doesn’t arouse suspicion. The woman before her seems to be about her height, with sleek black hair and smooth, pale skin. She doesn’t look nearly old enough to be the mother of the girl beside her. Juneun guesses that the woman is also another goddess. Perhaps the queen Bing-bing decried earlier. She puts on her best smile, extends her hand, and bows. “My name is Juneun. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, ma’am.”

The woman’s shake is firm but warm. It seems the coldness with which they were accosted has evaporated, as her slightly nasally timbre has morphed into something soft. “Please,” she says, “call me Mimi. The pleasure’s all mine. It’s not often that my daughter introduces me to her new employees.” Her doe-like eyes travel down to the dresses, when her smile tightens. “Oh, Jieqiong, silly girl.”

Mimi moves to take the dresses, and Juneun has no choice but to comply. “You forgot to have the security tags removed,” she says. “It would’ve been a spectacular failure of an endeavor if you’d gotten ink all over these nice clothes, hm?”

The girl, Jieqiong, laughs nervously. “Oh, it must’ve slipped my mind. Thank you, mommy.”

“I’ll take care of these for you, okay? Just stay here,” Mimi reassures. In long strides, she goes to the counter. As her hands (and the dresses) disappear from her line of sight, Juneun can only hope that the goddess — Hera , she realizes — is doing as she says.

Her fears are assuaged when she watches Mimi open a paper bag and put the neatly folded dresses inside. Whatever horror stories that had been passed down throughout millennia about Hera were clearly a disservice. From what Juneun could see, she was a perfectly likable woman. Then again, she hadn’t slept with Zeus (nor does she plan to). She allows herself to smile a little more broadly as she takes the bag from her. “Thank you,” Juneun says honestly.

“You’re very welcome,” Mimi responds. “I’m glad to be of service.”

With yet another bow, both Juneun and Jieqiong exit the store. Without the tinge of adrenaline painting their every movement, things become stiff and stilted. They walk for another block in awkward silence before they both stop, satisfied with the distance between themselves and the store. Jieqiong plucks the bag from Juneun’s hands and gives her the dresses. “Won’t exactly look like you shoplifted if it comes all nice in a pretty bag, will it?” she jokes. She folds the bag several times before apparently making up her mind and giving Juneun a big hug. “Good luck getting him back.”

“T-thank you,” Juneun stammers. “Wait, you said that someone sent you —”

“I also said I couldn’t tell you who,” Jieqiong says, frowning in sympathy. “I made an oath of secrecy, Juneun. The most I can do is promise that it’s no one dreadful.” She squeezes her shoulders one last time. “I have to go now, but know that I’ll be rooting for you! Me and my mother both.”

Jieqiong slips into the sea of pedestrians mere seconds later, and Juneun turns to hail a cab.

The look of disgusted surprise on Bing-bing’s face when Juneun hands over the clothing doesn’t serve as much of a victory when the goddess merely sneers and waves her hand. Juneun considers asking Bing-bing what her problem with her is, but doesn’t get the chance to when the goddess scoffs, “Don’t look so smug, sweetheart. It’s only your second task. You’re not even halfway done.”

Though she had her suspicions, Juneun knows now that she’s more than likely going to be worked to death. Bing-bing will string her along until the day she dies, keeping Yifan just out of arm’s reach. Or, just to keep her promise, she’ll work Juneun until old age and then finally talk to Yifan knowing full well he’ll find Juneun undesirable. At this point, it’s fairly obvious the whole thing will end up being a fruitless endeavor. But what other choice does she have? Kyungsoon all but said Bing-bing would be the only one who could help her. Though it seemed hopeless, she supposes she will have to try.

After all, Kyungsoon also said she wouldn’t end in tragedy.

…

Juneun isn’t entirely sure if Bing-bing’s caught wind of heights being one of — if not her greatest — fears. Knowing the goddess, it had to be on purpose. There was no way she wouldn’t purposefully go out of her way to give Juneun one of the most terrifying tasks imaginable.

Maybe Bing-bing herself is terrified of what she’s asking Juneun to do, and that’s why she hadn’t bothered to show up in person to give Juneun her instructions. Instead, either the goddess herself or one of her minions left a letter on Juneun’s dining room table to explain the details of her task. She makes a mental note to change the key to the door, just to spite her.

It was wordy and condescending, but easy enough to decipher after skimming through. The legend of the cowherd and the weaver, among others, spoke of a great Silver River in the sky. Juneun’s mission, apparently, was to climb the highest tower in Seoul — the Lotte World Tower — and capture some of the River’s waters in a glass vial.

Of all the things Bing-bing could’ve asked her to do, Juneun was almost sure that this was the worst. But, for Yifan, she would do anything. So, she goes.

Briefly, as she was on the 123rd floor, Juneun wondered if her terrified, wide-eyed look might’ve made her stand out amongst the tower’s other visitors. It turned out to be a baseless fear, since it seemed several others along with her looked just as afraid, probably because they were unaware of just how high 555 meters actually were.

While the research she did was at least a little helpful in assuaging her nerves, there was nothing to compare to the actual feeling of being on the roof, a location barred from public access unless someone (like, say, Juneun) had access to Yifan’s innumerable funds. Greed was an ugly thing, but she couldn’t fault an underpaid security guard for taking her bribe. She’s also pretty desperate herself; there is no other reason for her to be anywhere near the tower except to win Yifan back.

She also can’t fault him for leaving her alone up there. The fall breeze was almost enough to knock her straight off, even despite the way she bundled herself up to increase her mass. In any other circumstance, the way she clings half to the ground as she stumbles towards the northeast corner of the tower would be comical. When she reaches the edge, though, Juneun barely fights back the urge to vomit. Part of her thinks that she might accidentally kill someone if she does. Vertigo slaps her in the face with the strength of a thousand bulls. 555 meters is indeed a very intimidating height.

Forget the little pep talk she gave herself earlier. What was she _doing_ up here? How would a normal human like Juneun possibly be able to collect _celestial_ waters? There was little to no chance she could succeed, and it would be more likely that she toppled to her death. Which, if she was being particularly honest, didn’t really sound so bad. It’d be easier than living on with the knowledge that she’d simply been too chicken to devote herself to finding Yifan. She wanted to, oh, so desperately, but fear was stronger than her love for him. Just as it’s always been. Maybe she didn’t deserve him. It seemed as though all those promises she made to Bing-bing were moot.

It wouldn’t matter if she were dead. Juneun wouldn’t have to live with the humiliation and shame. There’d just be nothingness. Yifan would forget about her if he hadn’t already. Someone else would replace her in his heart. He would be happy, and he would start the family he’s always wanted with someone who deserved to have one with him.

An eagle’s screech cuts through the haze of negativity, nearly startling Juneun into falling off the roof were it not for her pre-existing death grip. It flutters its wings after a smooth landing, looking at her expectantly.

Juneun’s shaky laugh makes it cock its head. “You wouldn’t happen to be here to help me, would you?” The only thing she gets in return is a quick blink. “Who is it? There’s someone up there who really wants me to be with Yifan, and I’m certain it isn’t his mother.”

The eagle caws again, and then starts pecking at Juneun’s coat pocket.

“Hey!” Juneun yelps. She digs into the fabric and produces a glass vial. It isn’t very big, barely the length of her pinky and just barely thicker. She doesn’t need to get a lot of water, but even reaching it is the issue. The instructions were far too vague for any sort of expectation of success. Her mortal gaze couldn’t even pinpoint where the Silver River was; just knowing that it was in the sky wasn’t enough. Could she even reach it all by herself?

Juneun untwists the cork, crying out as the eagle snatches the now topless container none-too-gently from her. This, out of her all her helpers, seems to be the most no-nonsense and straightforward. For better or for worse, she can’t really tell. She barely has time to register the animal’s actions before it takes off into the sky.

It’s much like Yifan’s departure, though with significantly less heartbreak.

She sits back on her haunches and scoots back from the edge. There’s no reason for her to be so close to it now that she doesn’t really have anything to do. Something probably needs to be said about how readily she allows an eagle to complete her super secret godly mission in her place. She might just be insane. In her solitude, her mind decides to instead travel elsewhere.

The question on Juneun’s mind ever since she first saw the swarm of ants not even a week prior was simple. Who was her mysterious benefactor? It had to be someone divine, because no ordinary human would be privy to the tasks Bing-bing gave her. None of her aides had given her any helpful answers. Jieqiong said that she wasn’t allowed to say who sent her. It likely wasn’t her mother, Mimi, because the benefactor went to great lengths to hide their identity and wouldn’t have appeared so openly. There are several pantheons of Aphrodite’s contemporaries, in addition to everyone else in the Greek pantheon. Juneun would be a grandmother by the time she reasoned through all of them to find out who really was helping her.

Of course, there’s a little annoying voice in the back of her head who suggests that it’s Yifan. Maybe he regretted leaving her, but Bing-bing was preventing him from rejoining her, and he was doing everything in his power to save their love. Or, maybe he didn’t love her anymore but took pity on her for the sake of their child. She convinces herself this is probably just wishful thinking. The delusions of heartache. Yifan wouldn’t give her the time of day even if he were there. That’s why she needs Bing-bing’s help, after all.

As if trying to curb her thoughts, the eagle announces its presence once more with a cry and swoops onto the rooftop. Trapped between its beak is the vial, all filled up with the Silver River’s water. Glittery and shimmering, the body of water fits its name quite nicely. A droplet that falls on Juneun’s thumb as she corks the vial makes her entire appendage tingle. “Thank you,” she says. Something in the back of her head is still flabbergasted that she’s speaking to a bird. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

The eagle crows again and flies off, leaving her behind seemingly without a second thought. Juneun watches it depart. She wonders where it’s flying to, and she halfheartedly wishes that it’s returning to its master, Yifan.

Bing-bing, for her part, fumes very openly when Juneun brings her the water. It’s clear the woman wants to accuse her of cheating somehow, but apparently is unaware how she did it, or simply is unable to voice her frustration. Bing-bing examines the bottle closely, holding it to her eye and then up to the light.

“I can assure you that it’s genuine,” says Juneun, even though she can’t. She receives a hiss for her trouble. She can tell that the goddess is getting more annoyed with her growing confidence at the completion of each task. They’re meant to demoralize her, if not to free Bing-bing from her oath entirely. The only way out of it was for Juneun not to complete a quest, but the fact that she consistently exceeded expectations meant that she was one step closer to forcing Bing-bing to help her.

“I’m surprised you did it,” Bing-bing eventually forces out. “I would’ve thought the obstacle of height was… insurmountable for you.”

Juneun shrugs. “True love does wonders, ma’am.”

The goddess sneers. Her expression reeks of skepticism and disbelief. “Yes, I’m well aware.” She carelessly tosses the glass into a desk drawer. “We’ll see if that can help you on your last test, though. Be sure to bring some change with you. You’ll need it for the fare.”

…

Juneun wants to say that she’s surprised the entrance to the Underworld is right under her nose. Given that SM Entertainment loves to suck the life out of its idols, though, Juneun can’t say that she’s particularly shocked.

Baekhee expresses her surprise when Juneun asks for her help, exclaiming (exaggerating) that she thought her older sister was dead. To her credit, though, she doesn’t ask questions when Juneun asks her to sneak her into one of the practice rooms in the basement. Apprehension still mars her features when Juneun asks to be left alone in the room, but Baekhee nonetheless murmurs that she’ll make up an excuse on her behalf. It should sting a little, the way the younger seems to walk on eggshells around her. It’s very apparent that Baekhee thinks that she’s not… all there. They used to be so close, but it seems that both the dissolution and reparation of Juneun’s marriage drives them only further apart. She wishes that she could tell Baekhee and Jonghae the truth without looking like she needs to be institutionalized.

She whispers her thanks as her sister moves to leave, returned by a “Don’t worry about it. That’s what sisters are for, right?”

Once Baekhee is out of sight and earshot, Juneun approaches the middle of the room. She kneels and knocks on the floorboards three times. As soon as her fingers leave the wooden planks, the floor falls away. A light glows at the bottom, barely illuminating a craggy staircase made of stone. A massive wave of humidity rises up and envelops the room with a suffocating weight. Juneun puts her hand into her pants pocket to make sure that she still had the two 100 won coins she planned to use to pay the fare.

Dread seems to ooze out from the hole, and Juneun takes an uneasy step forward. The descent isn’t as slippery as she previously thought. The traction is a minor reassurance, especially as the ground closes behind her. She has no idea if it’ll open back up if she doesn’t return with what she’s supposed to, if at all.

Juneun can’t blame Bing-bing for leaving this task for last. While she couldn’t have imagined anything worse than having to climb the Lotte World Tower, that was because Juneun never fathomed being sent to the realm of the dead. Bing-bing tasked her with retrieving a box of Persephone’s beauty. Evidently, there was some sort of divine soirée — one that Yifan would be attending — and she needed something a little extra to freshen up her look. Juneun doesn’t think there’s a way for Bing-bing to look even more beautiful, but held her tongue. It’s highly unlikely the somewhat backhanded compliment would’ve been met with positivity.

She tries to take heart, though, even as the atmosphere turns from creepy to downright terrifying. Whereas her initial descent was silent save for the echo of her footsteps, the wails of the dead becomes so very evident as she reaches the bottom of the staircase. Juneun presses a hand to her mouth to stifle a gasp at many of the ghoulish visages surrounding her. They apparently maintain the appearance they had moments before, or more likely at the time of, their deaths. Some people are missing limbs, blown apart by bullets or bombs or both. Others are walking skeletons, clear victims of starvation. Some are just children and infants.

It should be expected. Death doesn’t discriminate. But it’s still horrifying nonetheless.

The most Juneun can do is march resolutely forward. She forces herself not to meet the eyes of the dead, keeping a tight grip on her fare and bag. The waters of the River Styx are soundless and still. Were there no repercussions, one and all might simply wade across. But Juneun, doubly affected as a member of the world of the living, cannot. She instead quickly stands at the back of the line of the ferry — still an archaic barge — currently being loaded.

Once the last of the deceased steps on board, she surges forward, a coin held outstretched. “Do you have room for one more?” she asks. The top part of Charon’s face is obscured by the shadows of his hood, revealing only a crack-lipped grimace. The ferryman’s stare is chilling, which Juneun realizes is because he doesn’t have eyelids. It makes him look perpetually alarmed, also putting her at unease.

He takes the 100 won coin and puts it in the pouch on his hip. “You’ll have to stand,” he croaks. Juneun believes she hears a hint of amusement in his tone.

She does end up standing on the voyage, but it’s hardly anything to complain about. The river is the antithesis of choppy, allowing her to maintain her balance with no problem. While Dante described souls as clawing at the ferry in order to get on board, the souls of the Styx are really just floating there like logs. The journey across the river is short enough, and while Juneun is glad to be back on solid land, it feels as though she’s crossed the point of no return. She still has one coin, just enough for the return trip. Her instincts demand that he use it, but she instead waits for Charon to depart so she loses the opportunity and thus has no other choice but to press on.

She’s so close. So very close. Just one more thing, and Yifan will come back to her.

( _There’s still a possibility he won’t_ , something dark and twisty snickers. _Bing-bing only promised that she would speak on your behalf_ , _not that she would convince him to return to that sham you call a marriage. Just face it_  — _Yifan doesn’t love you anymore_ , _and he never will again_.)

Juneun shakes her head and walks forward. There is no point in allowing darkness and doubt to fester when hope is so readily within her grasp.

She comes immediately upon the judges of the Underworld. At a long, obsidian table, the three sit before the line of souls waiting for absolution. Their judgments come quickly and monotonously, leaving no room for an appeal. Their wieldy omniscience is frightening, their scrutinizing gaze even more so when they realize who — or what — she is.

“You are not supposed to be here,” one of them says. The lack of light obscures their faces, but the confusion and discomfort ring loud and clear. If she’s being honest, she doesn’t really want to see their faces anyway.

“I am,” Juneun says, “here on behalf of the goddess Aphrodite. As the _theatrum deorum_ approaches, she seeks a dose of Persephone’s beauty.”

Their hushed whispering starts not even a second after she finishes speaking. She is unable to catch a word of it, but even before she starts trying to, the three finish deliberating and motion for the massive gates to their left to swing open. At the far end of a dirt path, a small villa made of black marble sits. It’s very different from how Juneun imagined a palace would look, seeming considerably unassuming.

“You have a distraction for the dog, don’t you?” the one who had previously addressed her asks.

She does. Kyungsoon handed three cupcakes over with a smile and a wish of good luck. This task is the only one in which she herself had to procure items with which to use — the coins for her fare, Cerberus’s snacks, and a lacquered box with which to hold Persephone’s beauty. It was almost as if Bing-bing no longer wanted to spare any resources for her, though this mission was clearly the most important thing she’s asked of her.

“Then off you go.”

Juneun bows her head in gratitude and moves quickly to the gates. She removes the pastry box from her bag, whimpering as she feels the ground shake with heavy steps. She smells Cerberus before she sees him — to her surprise, he smells like any other dog, just far more pungent. A chorus of barks makes her freeze in her tracks. The blue flames of the torches on the gates illuminate the dog in a particularly terrifying manner.

Cerberus is smaller than she expected, although she’d given herself a worse case scenario of _T-Rex from Jurassic Park_. It still stands at a good seven feet, taller than the already-pretty-large Yifan. She can’t quite compare it to any breed from her world, looking practically the definition of mutt. All three heads bare their razor sharp teeth, globs of drool threatening to fall from their mouths. Juneun’s fingers tremble as she opens the box. “H-hey, boy,” she murmurs. “Are you hungry?”

They growl in unison. Their eyes immediately zero in on the cupcakes. Spiked tail thumping, the heads lower towards her, then nearly smash together as she flings the cupcakes to the side as far as she can. It’s the largest game of fetch she’s ever played, and she doesn’t wait to see if Cerberus has snapped up her offerings before sprinting to the palace, through a doorway too small for it to follow her.

The audience chamber is larger than it seems from the outside, looking like a mere foyer when it it is in truth twice that size. Two thrones sit at the far end of the hall, though only one is occupied. The queen of the Underworld rises in what seems to be surprise at Juneun’s abrupt entrance. Her husband is nowhere to be seen. She isn’t sure which of them she was supposed to be more afraid of. Juneun halves the distance between them and drops to her knees in a kowtow.

“Queen Persephone,” she gasps, “I’m here at the behest of —”

“Aphrodite, I know,” the queen says. She too is very beautiful, features large where Bing-bing’s were small. She can see why there was as demand for her looks; all of her time in the Underworld hadn’t diminished them a single bit. Her big eyes peer at Juneun cautiously. “What I don’t understand is why Bing-bing would send someone to retrieve my beauty when she could easily come get it herself. We aren’t enemies — and that makes me inclined to believe that you may be lying.”

Juneun presses her forehead to the floor. “I’m not!” she cries. “I was sent by Aphrodite to complete the last task she demanded of me. She promised that if I do as she wishes, she will bring my husband back to me. All I need is a box of your beauty, and she will help me.”

It seems her words pique the queen’s curiosity. She steps down from the daïs towards her. “Your husband?” she asks.

“Yifan,” Juneun whispers. His name always falls from her lips with reverence. He’s within arm’s reach now, and that thought alone keeps her going. “At the time we were wed, I didn’t know he was Eros. When I discovered his identity, I broke his trust and he left me. I know my wrongs now, and I want to — no, _need_ to get him back. Bing-bing is the only one he will listen to. I’ve prayed to him time and time again, yet he hasn’t answered.

“Please, I’m desperate,” Juneun begs. “I can’t live without him, and I’m with child. I need your help.”

Persephone’s formerly critical gaze softens into sympathy. Kyungsoon had told her that Persephone was the colder of the Underworld’s two rulers, but that lack of emotion wasn’t on display here. Perhaps, like with the case of Orpheus, she had a soft spot for separated spouses. “Oh, you poor thing,” she coos and beckons with two fingers. “Do you have a box for me?”

Juneun scrambles forward and hands over the repurposed jewelry box. The goddess opens it, obscuring her face and actions. All she can do is hope that Persephone is doing as she’s asked. After a few seconds of which Juneun waits with bated breath, the goddess hands her box back with a gentle smile. “There,” she says kindly. “All done. Tell Bing-bing that Bom sends her regards.”

“I will,” Juneun gasps. She briefly considers hugging the queen of the Underworld but decides against it. Instead, she bows deeply and rattles off rapid-fire ‘thank you’s as she exits. She breaks into a run the moment she steps out of the door. Cerberus is but a fleeting detail in the back of her mind as she sprints towards the ferry with the latched box clutched against her chest. Juneun wants to get out of here as fast as possible. The sooner she leaves, the sooner she’ll get to see Yifan again.

She scrambles onto the ferry, nearly dropping her coin when getting on. Her feet carry her with speed she didn’t even know she was capable of, thundering past the legions of the deceased to the stairs leading to the world of the living. Juneun barely gives the ground time to open up before she heaves herself out of the Underworld.

She lays panting on the floor of the practice room. An uncontrollable laugh bursts from her mouth. A noise of disbelief, of triumph, of overwhelming joy. She did it.

She _did_ it.

It’s over now.

The only thing left to do is to deliver the box to Bing-bing. Juneun extends her arms to see it properly and sits up. It doesn’t feel any heavier, nor does it look any different. She doesn’t think that Bom would’ve lied to her, though, and gives it an experimental rattle next to her ear. She hears nothing. Maybe it’s just another ‘god thing.’

Catching a glimpse of her reflection in the wall of mirrors, Juneun frowns. Having spent so much time wallowing in her misery over the loss of Yifan, and then fretting over her tasks, it seems that Juneun had ended up neglecting her own beauty.

Her appearance is haggard, hair messy and thinner than it was before. Heavy, dark bags sit under her eyes. Her cheeks are fatter, but not in a flattering way. She resembles a bulldog now more than she ever did in her life. Wrinkles line the creases of her inner eye and between her brows. She’s changed very visibly, halfway to unrecognizable.

Juneun can’t see Yifan like this. He’d think she was hideous.

Her eyes drop to the box in her lap.

Maybe… Oh, she shouldn’t.

She went through all that trouble to get it, so clearly she should deliver it and _not_ waste it on herself —

But she could just use a little bit. A smidge, just so that she can look _normal_ , for Yifan. Such a miniscule amount, so tiny that Bing-bing won’t even notice.

… Well, when she puts it like _that_.

Then it’s settled.

The reasonable part of her brain screams at her not to do it. There are things she isn’t supposed to meddle with, and the world of the divine is one of them. She’d already come close enough to getting burned by pissing off two deities, and now she wants to take the beauty of one. It’s quickly overwhelmed by thoughts of Yifan, of how he might recoil when he lays eyes on her, how he might turn on his heel and leave because she no longer looked like the woman he married.

Gingerly, Juneun lifts the box to her face. She thumbs the latch open, and then carefully lifts the lid. There’s nothing inside. The box is absolutely empty. She waits for a few seconds. Nothing. Nothing’s changed, nothing’s different, and her heart plummets to her gut because something was supposed to _happen_ , she was supposed to look different and prettier and —

Her eyes roll back into her head and she’s unconscious before she hits the ground.

…

The first thing she feels is a frenzied pressure against her lips. The next thing she feels is something warm passing over her face, like something was waved in front of it. Slowly, her senses return to her. Her hearing is the next to rectify itself, making her head ring at the shrill voice calling for her.

“ — neun! Juneun! Please, wake up!”

She doesn’t want to. Her slumber is too comfortable, like a soft wool blanket bundling her up all nice and warm. The nagging voice continuing to call her name can go fuck himself, thinking that using Yifan’s voice will be enough to —

Her eyes fly open.

“Hey, sleepyhead,” Yifan whispers. His eyes are soft, loving, and — dare she think it — a little teary. The soft blanket is actually his arms wrapped around her. “There are better places to sleep than on the ground, you know.”

Juneun’s first instinct is to pull him down into a kiss, but she can’t. Her arms refuse to cooperate. “You’re here?” she mumbles. “W-what happened? The last thing I remember…”

“You opened a box of Stygian sleep,” Yifan explains. He lowers his head to give her the kiss she was seeking, far too brief for the first after such a long time apart. He rests his forehead against hers. “If I’d gotten here any later… I don’t even want to think about it.”

Juneun brushes their noses together. She kisses him again — and _this_ time, it’s right. Soft, gentle, a reciprocal movement of their lips. Passion in moderation, desperation neatly veiled. It grounds them, reminding her that he’s there. This kiss convinces her that it’s not a dream. Yifan is here, Yifan is _here_ , his hair soft and real underneath Juneun’s fingertips.

“Why are you here?” she asks. There are so many questions, she doesn’t know which one she wants an answer to first. “Do you forgive me? I did everything I could to bring you back, I even… I even teamed up with your mom, sort of. Did you know? Did she say anything to you about me?”

He laughs lightly against her mouth. “Yeah, she did. I was resting at her place because you bruised my wing, and it was… sort of a passing mention. I don’t think she expected me to hone in on it after you’d hurt me both physically and emotionally —”

“I’m so sorry,” she heaves. They kiss again as he helps her sit up, and she hopes he can feel every bit of regret she pours into it.

“ — but I could never forget about you,” Yifan continues as if he hadn’t been interrupted. “I knew she was going to twist your arm in every which way possible, and when I found out you took her deal, I knew I had to help.”

“So… so it was you?” Her query is tentative. Juneun spent the last week telling herself she was a fool for thinking Yifan was the one sending people and creatures to help her, but it seems she might’ve been right all along. “The ants, Jieqiong, the eagle… they were sent by you?”

Yifan nods. “If my mother had her way, she was never going to let you see me again,” he whispers. “I love you too much to let her hurt you like that.”

The three words make her heart soar. She presses her lips to his. There’s so much she wants to convey — gratitude, relief, and most of all, love. He returns her fervor, hands cupping her face. His fingers drift into her hair, carding through it gently. They get stuck in a few knots, but that doesn’t stop him.

Though he’s the one to break away first, Yifan makes it clear he’s reluctant to do so. “You need to get that box to my mother,” he tells her. Right. She was still technically on the clock, even though she no longer needed Bing-bing’s help. Yifan gently helps her stand, hands outstretched to catch her when stumbles. “How do you feel? Do you think you can walk?”

She can, though she leans against him just so she can feel his warmth beside her again. “Yes,” she eventually says. “What are you going to do?”

“I have some things to take care of with the Thunderer,” Yifan tells her. “But I will be with you shortly. Trust me, Juneun I’m not eager to leave you again. Once I’m done, I promise nothing will ever part us again.”

“You promise?” She needs to hear him say the words.

“I swear on the River Styx, I will never leave you again.” Yifan takes one of her hands and presses it to his mouth. “You are the love of my life. No other woman could ever compare. I will always return to you, Kim Juneun.”

They leave the building hand in hand. The skin on skin contact is almost too much. She’s missed him so much she feels like her heart’s going to burst out of her chest. Juneun could hold onto him forever. On the big street, Yifan cups her cheeks in view of everyone. He kisses her once, twice, then three times. “I love you,” he whispers against her lips. His words bear the sincerity of thousands of years of existence. “I love you. I’ll be back soon.”

“I love you too.” Juneun kisses him again and hesitantly lets him go. When Yifan vanishes around the corner, she hails a cab and makes the all-too-familiar journey to Bing-bing’s store. It’ll be the last time she steps foot in it, if she can help it.

She barely has a toe in the door of Bing-bing’s office before her senses pick up massive waves of animosity coming towards her. Juneun catches the goddess’s stink eye immediately. She fights back the urge to send back an incendiary smile. Restraint is something she used to have; it shouldn’t be this difficult to exercise it now. Yifan’s return has turned her rather smug.

“You look good,” the goddess says mildly. The implication is clear — ‘you didn’t use to look good.’ “Almost as if you took a piece of the beauty for yourself.”

“Oh, me?” Juneun says. It isn’t very smart to lie to a deity, but Juneun’s currently on cloud nine. Practically nothing could bring her down now. She steps forward and puts the box down before her. “I wouldn’t dare, ma’am.”

“Yes,” Bing-bing mutters, “you were also so good at obeying me.” Lifting the box from her desk, Bing-bing’s grip makes her knuckles grow stark white and her hands shake. What composure she sought to hold was slowly falling apart, piece by piece. The fact that she doesn’t open the box strikes Juneun — she might not have needed it after all; Bing-bing might’ve been planning to use this task and Juneun’s curiosity to incapacitate her if not outright kill her. “I’m actually surprised your inquisitiveness didn’t get the better of you. You’re very lucky you didn’t open the box. I doubt a woman like you could’ve withstood a divine’s beauty.”

“I am fortunate,” Juneun responds. “Fortunate still, now that Yifan’s returned to me.”

Bing-bing’s face twists into a snarl. “Listen, you little _wretch_. My son is not yours. He will never be yours. No mortal woman, let alone a woman like _you_ would ever be worthy of him. My solemn oath was to talk to him, never that I would bring him back to you.” She drops the box, making Juneun flinch at the bang it causes. “In fact, I think I’ll tell him how you cheated. I’ll tell him that you’re a sham, and a charlatan. That you were dishonest even in trying to win him back. My son hates many things, but you know, he hates cheaters and liars the most. You will be nothing but an insignificant speck —”

“That’s quite enough, mother.” Juneun almost melts into Yifan’s arms as he puts his hands on her shoulders. She glances instead at the warmth pressing up against the right side of her chest. Yifan’s hand is closed around her shoulder, but his fingers are twisted into the handles of a bag of take out. It smells nice, though Juneun can’t quite make out the cuisine. He presses a kiss to her temple. “Sorry I was late.”

Bing-bing recoils at the appearance of her son. “You should be at the _theatrum_. What are you doing here?”

“I just wanted to see my mother,” Yifan says innocently. Juneun figures it might’ve been something he would say long ago, but something’s changed. In rebelling against his mother to help her, Yifan was… different now. He realized it was okay to say no to Bing-bing. “I also heard that my wife was here, so I thought I’d pay her a little visit, too.”

It’s clear that the goddess doesn’t buy his words at all. Her eyes dart between the two of them, before they zero in on the food, which steadily wafts creamy heaven towards Juneun’s nose. “Yifan,” she says lowly, “what are you doing with that? You can’t possibly be thinking of —”

“Giving Juneun ambrosia?” Yifan interjects. Juneun can just feel the cheekiness coming off of him waves. He’s a comforting warmth against her back as she leans against him. The weight of his words hasn’t quite sunk in yet. “She’s got a lot of heart, doesn’t she, mother? A lot of spirit. I believe she would be a good goddess of the soul. It just so happens that the king agrees.”

Eyes wide, Juneun twists to look at him. _That_ was his business? Yifan smiles fondly at her. He gently tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “Wait,” she splutters. “What are you saying? You’re… making me a goddess?” Saying the words aloud certainly made it all the more enticing, but she would’ve liked to have been given a heads up. What even were the criteria for being a goddess? What of her life? Was she just expected to give that up?

“She doesn’t even know!” Bing-bing screeches. “You’d take this… this _girl_ and give her the greatest powers in the world? Yifan, you have no idea what you’re doing!”

“I know enough, mother. Juneun is a good woman. She isn’t some girl. She’s passionate, kind, generous, warm, loving, and stronger than any mortal I have ever known.” Hearing the words has Juneun’s heart pounding. Yifan has told her as much already, but she’ll never grow tired of knowing how much he loves her. “And I couldn’t imagine living without her. Those are just a number of reasons why she deserves god hood. I wish you’d look past your own jealousy to realize that. If you have any objections, you’ll have to take it up with grandfather — who, mind you, gave us his blessing.”

“You’re making a mistake,” Bing-bing cries. Juneun thinks she’s a woman unused to losing, and a little wicked part of her revels in the fact that she’s on the winning side. “You… she’s just a _mortal_ , Yifan. She’s just as terrible as the rest of them, she’s… she’s… horrendous —”

Yifan interrupts her, “You know that the only reason you hate Juneun is because your ego’s bruised. You’re mad because when I told you about her, I said that her mother told me she was more beautiful than the goddess of beauty herself. You’re mad because father and I agreed with her. You’re mad because when you went to our wedding, Kim Minhee continued to say the same thing. The truth is, if she didn’t look like this, you would say there’s nothing wrong with Juneun. She has flaws, yes, but the reason _you_ hate her is because you can’t stand the fact that she’s just as beautiful as you, and she’s also prettier on the inside.

“But, I’m afraid it’s getting late.” Yifan takes Juneun’s hand, warm and comforting. “If we’re going to eat dinner at decent hour, we should head back. Mother.”

Yifan’s words leave Bing-bing speechless, and she can only watch and gape as he leads Juneun out of her office and the store. His Rolls Royce sits parked right in front of it. The way Yifan opens the door for her brings about a nostalgic near-teariness that makes her vision bler and her chest burn. Juneun’s trapped between feeling like they’re starting all over again and feeling like they’re going back to normal. Both are bittersweet, but both are welcomed and cherished. He takes hold of her hand again as he starts the car.

“I can’t believe we did that,” she whispers. “I can’t believe that _you_ did that. I don’t even know what to say.”

She really doesn’t. A thousand thoughts are racing through her mind, moving about too quickly for her to latch onto a single one. There’s so much — the fact that Yifan is again with her, the fact that he apparently petitioned for her godhood and was granted permission. It’s all just too much to take in.

“Did you mean it?” Juneun eventually asks. “Everything that you said about me.”

Yifan kisses her hand. “Of course I did. My mother even said I hated liars, didn’t she?” He brushes his nose across her knuckles. Silence ensues, a respite for Yifan to consider his words. “You know, I pricked myself with one of my arrows when your parents came to me to find you a husband.”

She blinks. “It wasn’t supposed to be you?”

“I don’t make habit out of falling for my clients, no,” he chuckles. “But as for who’s _supposed_ to be? Fate is rarely ever wrong. Whether or not I pricked my finger by accident, I know I would’ve fallen in love with you. Besides, they wear off for gods — and I’m still here, aren’t I?”

“I hope so,” she laughs.

She missed this, being comfortable with him. Living a month without him was torture enough. Juneun almost pounces on him then and there; she misses desperately the feeling of his flesh against hers. But road safety comes first, especially since only one of them is immortal and would survive the inevitable crash if she decides to do what her inner vixen is suggesting. Instead, she allows herself to be content with his presence. Even though it’s the bare minimum, it’s still better than nothing.

At a red light, she leans across the console to kiss him. The ambrosia sits neglected between them. Juneun isn’t sure how to approach it, or if she even should. The last time she messed with something meant for the gods, she fell into a coma. There’s a lot entailed in the aromatic food of the gods. She would gain so much more, but doesn’t know just how much she’d have to give up. “So… what happens now? After I’ve, what, deified myself?”

Yifan hums thoughtfully. “It’s not like there’s anything _bureaucratic_ that needs to be done. The twelve big ones would probably like to meet you — but you’ve already met two.” He pauses, then laughs. “We’d need to get our marriage recognized again, though, since you wouldn’t effectively be the same person you were before. You know what I’m getting at, right?”

“Another wedding?” The first one wasn’t even that long ago. Generally, people try to only have one during their lifetimes, and definitely not two with the same person within the same year. Her first, though? It could’ve used some work. Maybe a re-do wouldn’t be so bad after all.

“Yep.”

Juneun rubs her stomach, comforted by the slight bulge. She could live with a new beginning. She had no idea what else could possibly be in store for them, but maybe that was for the best. Kim Juneun spent the majority of her life desperately fighting for control. If there was anything to be learned throughout her ordeal, it was that letting go was okay. It’s not bad to loosen up every once in a while. Ease off the gas pedal. There’s no need to jump to conclusions.

What else does she need, after all? She has everything she’d ever want — Yifan’s love, an eternity with him, and the beginnings of a family. _How Are You Bread_ has been doing perfectly fine in her absence, according to Minseok’s text messages. They’ll have a spot for her in the kitchen she wants to come back, and she considers taking it after everything’s settled down. Life is good, and it can only get better.

A thought crosses her mind. The mischievousness of it surprises her. That’s more Baekhee and Jonghae’s alley. “This wedding… can it be as obnoxious as I want? As in, can I rub it someone’s face, that we’re getting married again?”

Yifan laughs. He seems to pick up on her meaning, given the way he smirks and peers at her out of the corner of his eye. “Olympian weddings are always obnoxious, so, yes. If that’s what you want.”

“Good.” Juneun sighs, resting her head on his shoulder. “I can’t wait.”

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr: [jingukdoc](http://jingukdoc.tumblr.com/)  
> twitter: [wingsanaheim](http://twitter.com/wingsanaheim)


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